Beyond Middle Earth
by ShahroodyKid
Summary: Westeros and Middle Earth are on the opposites of a globe of great magic and power. Where evil and darkness dies in Middle Earth, it rises in Westeros and beyond. A dark elf enters into Winterfell and her mate, Legolas rises from another continent far from each other. They must venture through Westeros and Essos to come back to each other once again.
1. Chapter 1: Godswood

**Preface:**

Most elves were known to have seen the beacons of light brought to them by the lamps of Valar. Some however, chose not to see the light of the moon and sun and venture west. Those who stayed in the mountains of the east, followed the darker kind into the realm of Utumno. There, their bodies evolved to camouflage with the beautiful iron and obsidian so prevalent in the underdark of Utumno. With the darkness and heavy magic, an Elven Prince, fled with his army to the light of Middle Earth./span/p

There, the dark elves were still seen as Less than and not welcomed to the tribes of Elves of Middle Earth. Though they possessed great, raw magic of the earth they walked beneath and above, they were not trusted and forbidden to venture past the shores of the Grey Havens. What kingdoms would welcome them and bring a future to their kin? Gondor.

 **Chapter One: The Godswood**

The few moments Jon felt like a loved son was with his father meditating in the Godswood alone. Together, they would groom their blades, braid rope, and listen to the winds carry words of the old. Jon longed to know stories of his mother but knew it was a moot point to bring up to his father since he knew how to speak. As of late, the soft sounds of the whetstones rhythmically sliding up and down long blades have been accompanied with the high chirp and yips of a small white wolf pup.

Jon would glance to see if his father was bothered by Ghost's constant voicing of boredom. Their eyes would meet, and Ned's smile would sparkle in his eyes back to Jon. Then a chuckle would be shared between the two. "He talks more than you in a week," Ned would chuckle back. Jon sniffed and smiled, "yeah, I suppose he does just that". Before Jon could continue, Ghost stopped suddenly from a whine to a snort and dove right into the water beneath the Weirwood tree. Ned got up and Jon jumped right in. The pond was deep enough to swim in, but this time, it had changed and the depth seemed endless.

Ned watched before him Jon plummeting further and further down after Ghost. He only knew this from the flickers of Ghost's star piercing white fur between shadows of Jon's arms. Preparing to jump in after his boy, he placed cloak and sword together and bent to the edge of the pond. The shadows and light changed and a glimmer of bright moonlight began to pierce through the dark water, showing Ghost, and Jon, carrying another creature with long silver hair.

Jon heaved to the surface gasping for air and pushing his pup onto the land. Then a woman's body heavily garbed surfaces from his hands into his father's. Regaining his breath and awareness of his location he hurled out, "Father! She was there! Is she alive?" Ned turned her body over and saw before him a warm copper skinned woman with hair as bright as moonlight. Her cloak was covered in a myriad of animal hides and feathers, and tied to her waist, two scimitars with foreign scribing upon their blades. Checking for life, he brought his ear close to her mouth and spied the strange formations of her ears and tattoos upon her neck and temples. There was no breath. He opened her lids to see shockingly golden eyes. He was not familiar with saving those who have drowned, but his instincts brought her back over his knee and he swatted her back several times. He placed his fingers in her mouth searching for any way that he could open her way to take in air. Moments passed what seemed like eternity to Jon and his father; a large inhale came from the once limp figure and the body pushed back from Ned onto the ground.

Coughing and heaving came over and over while Ned and Jon just knelt back from her in astonishment. Then, what seemed to be words coming from her seemed like a bombardment of distant notes of a song from a foreign land. "Who?! My love?! My wind?! Where am I?". Jon knelt to her to hold her while Ned calmed her with her hands in his. Slowly and quietly he asked, "are you a child of the forest? I know not what you are speaking. How did you find your way here?" Her head turned sharply to meet his eyes and she looked long and deep into his gaze. Ned felt as though she was not just staring straight into his spirit, but into the spirits of all his ancestors who came before him. A pull from inside pushed him back to the present and he placed his cloak around this dark woman with silver hair. In shock, Jon urges his father, "Lord Stark, she's not a wildling, I'm sure! I don't know what caused me to pull her out, but I'm not sure it is safe for her here.

Looking into her yellow cat eyes, Stark leans in, "Tell me your story".

 **Ilsenia**

The Age of Elves has all but disappeared in lands of Middle Earth. The High Elves and Grey Elves wandered to the Undying lands, leaving the forests, plains, and mountains to the humans. Ilsenia sat beneath a weirwood remembering when her spirit father Haldir passed from the lands and did not ever receive the blessing of the sweet winds of the Bay of Eldemar. She peered at her hands upon her lap and see the necklace her mate made for their daughter. Now she is gone too. Ilsenia should have agreed with Legolas and taken their daughter to the undying lands instead of remaining for the sake of Middle Earth. Her kin who remained felt the call and the disparity of never being able to go after the invitations had ended. They walked in darkness and fog not knowing the fate of their spirits. They wasted away when no one was looking. This will be the fate of her as well. Legolas was too far away to stop this and she has given all of herself to this land. Now her body will be a part of it too

The ghostly grey wind blew through her calico cloak, bringing a once strong and steady figure to her back upon the white tree with fiery leaves. Clutching Lesiery's chain, she closed her eyes.

From the darkness a blue light came flooding toward her. Was she being born upon the bays of the Undying Lands? Was it possible? Why is it so painful? A hand grabs her upper arm and pulls her from the darkness. Out from the murk, launching upon earth, she is born again. No. She is still holding her daughter's chain, drenched in heavy clinging animal pelts and feathers; her father's scimitars pushing into her sides. A man's voice calls out and another responds, but all voices seem just a bombardment of sound. All that encompasses her thoughts is her Legolas and home. In a moment, she catches more words recognizing them as the words of the men of Gondor. She knows these words. She know or knew the face and the hands holding her. How? How can this man before her be alive? Around her great pulses of magic come from the earth in these woods. This is not her lands. He is not a Steward of Gondor. Something is different and yet the same. Inhaling, she gazes into this familiar man's eyes and sees Boromir, Faramir, Aragorn, Arwen, Eowyn, and Eldarion. So many faces and crowns. She has reawaken in a time long past the age of Elves in a realm far from her lands. The Weirwood, it brought her back.


	2. Chapter 2: Gods Old and New

**Chapter Two:** **Gods Old and New**

The urgency of getting reasonable answers from the stranger led the Warden of the North to do less than honorable actions. The only guesses he had for her origins was that she was a wildling, a descendent of ancient Valeria or Volantis, and neither were suitable to have her unchained nor in the castle prison. Instead, he shared the knowledge of her existence with only three that he had to trust and had the knowledge of the ins and outs of Winterfell. Though Winter was coming, the Winter town was close to vacant and this was the only location he could keep her close to his sight. Maester Luwin, Jory, and Jon can be the only ones who know of this unnatural being. All reasoning fights in Stark's mind that she should be in chains and locked away. What is compelling him to put his castle and family at risk?

Ilsenia felt no need to debate or fight this man in Wolf's skin. The sayings often say "beware the wolf in sheep's wool", but this man made it clear he was a wolf and did not hide it. The banners and sigils hid nothing to the eye that they were not wolves. The dark elves once embraced the wolves and breed them to become as capable to fight alongside their masters, even talking their tongues. Perhaps wargs dwell here as well.

Exiting the Godswood took the only comforts she had and brought her back to the days when she was forced to be fostered by an elf tribe that hated her kind. What is a wildling to him and his kin? Faerie folk? Thieves? Only time to watch and talk will provide her more knowledge. Ilsenia followed Lord Stark beyond the walls of Winterfell in the late of night. The moonlight was all that aided their ability to see where they were venturing past the walls. She did not even need the moon to see, but their cleric held on the arm of the Lord's leftenant nonetheless.

One light flared from a structure beyond the walls of Winterfell. "This is our Winter town for when Winter arrives. It is mostly deserted in the summer years. Here is a place where you can have shelter and a place to work", Lord Stark opened the door of the structure to reveal a small fire and common furnitures that men often require. "Work?" Ilsenia inquired. "I do not know who you really are, though you tell me you are not from these lands and do not know how you came into the pool of my godswood. Something compels me to not lock you up, but I still require you to be in my sights until your fate is decided. My lady requires more baskets and pottery to be made to store our food for the winter. It is coming and I believe we will need all that we can get. Do you know how to weave and craft pots?" Ilsenia looked around at the faces in the room and nodded. Her delicate hands reached to the needles and twine at the table and constructed a basket base in just moments.

In agreement that she can find a place in Winterfell's protection with the skills she possess, Jory straight-faced nods to his lord. Stark returns the nod with a smile and lowering of his eyelids in agreement. "We have porridge and salted pork in this basket for you. There is water and wood in the workshop beside this building" Jory informed Ilsenia. "I thank you my lord", she replied to Stark. "My son will bring supplies to you in evenings to come. It would suit you to do your work in the evenings and to stay out of sight during light. I'm sure you are capable of doing just that."

Before Ned departed from the dwelling with the two, he turned over his shoulder with words, "These lands are guarded by wolves inside and out. I cannot in good conscience provide you any formittable blades like the scimitars you possessed. They are in my charge for the meantime. It would be wise not to venture too far beyond this town for your own protection." Before she could respond, he departed and closed the door behind him.

The summer winds blow colder each night, endorsing his families words, "Winter is coming". Ned, Jory, and Maester Luwin travel not to the East Gate that so commonly brings travelers and eyes; they instead returned to the South Gate of Winterfell toward the smithy where all should be dormant for the night. "Maester Luwin, have you found more on any of the tales and names she spoke of?"

"Our library is deep and old and it has been taking me a great pain of time to decipher the elder scrolls. It may be a good task for Master Bran or Arya to aid me in transcribing them onto fresher books. Less of what she tells and more what I see of her physique reveals some commonality in the older scriptures of the long night. Her skin color, though rich and dark like those native to Essos, is also compared to the children of the forest that once walked our territories. Her face and unmistakably, her ears match descriptions uttered by the first men about those children. Elf or faerie folk was what I believe she called her kind".

Ned continues beside his most trusted companions of Winterfell, nodding as they walk. "What of her hair? It almost has to be Targaryen in heritage? Though I have looked upon the dead Prince's hair when he walked these lands alive, and that of his mad father, hers is brighter and almost metallic. I thought the Targaryen were of unnatural blood, but hers goes even that". Maester Luwin nodded his head in response, "My eyes are not as keen as when I first took the oath of serving you my lord, but I too agree with your words. Their kind are almost all gone from existence. I could not be sure of her relation unless I were able to compare their hairs. That, sadly will not be possible."

This notion stirs Stark's conscience again, and the fist that grabbed through his chest the morning she had gazed into his soul returned with memories of the King's rebellion. To himself, he thought, 'there may be a way to bring the dead back to help find an answer'. Words escape his lips, "Gods be good".

When order and wisdom avoid his presence with defiance, the only place he could go to bring them back is the Godswood. The stranger's blades were beyond the crafting of Valerya, but the pommels quite familiar to the design of the Hart tree. Discreetly, he motioned to his advisors that he wishes to be alone in the wood to meditate and collect his mind, noting that he is not to be disturbed.

Holding all three blades, side by side to the Hart tree, words flow freely from his body, "Old Gods, bring me wisdom and answers. What commitment do I have to this creature? What charge do I have of those venturing south of the wall? Why has peace begun to unsettle yet again? Is your truth coming to break my lie?" The air is silent and each leaf from the tree falling, Ned could hear. The pool that sprung Ilsenia from its bosom lies still with no answer. Perhaps it is an answer?

Catelyn's steps, though quiet to most, pressed upon the earth of the Godswood like music to Ned's ears. Though his lands were like his mother's embrace, his lady was the anchor that brought strength in his adult life. "All these years, and I still feel like an outsider when I come here." With the fortune of placing the foreign blades to his side before she approaches closer, Ned smiled with comfort as he cooled his sword. Proudly he looks upon her, "You have five northern children. You're not an outsider." Stilly Catelyn replies, "I wonder if the Old Gods agree." A childish grin grew upon his face, "Your Gods with all the rules". Knowing she would not disturb his wish without cause, he sees her face fall to her hands, holding a raven's message.

Bringing news that the man who was like a father to him took ill and passed like he were ice to a flame came as another sprain to his wavering peace. Before his chest could settle, Cat presented him with more news that would be the tear in his fortress of armistice. "The King is riding for Winterfell". This only means with the hand passing, his dear friend from many decades of valor is coming to call upon him to leave his homeland and serve all the kingdoms in the southern land.

Before Catelyn departs from Ned, she turns and inquires, "The old widow in the town, who is she Ned? Why did you not tell me about her yourself?"

All accord disintegrated from Lord Stark and he turns suddenly to his wife, "H-h-how did you know?" "Was she your lover Ned?! Is she, she, your bastard's maker?" Confidently, Ned shakes his head, though still uncertain how she discovered Ilsenia, "No Cat, far far far from that. She may be an exiled wildling that is imploring my generosity in return to serve Winterfell. I have not had the strength to tell anyone but our Maester because I know what our followers of the scept would urge me to do without hesitation. The Dire Wolf, words of dark presences north from here only makes me wish to know more from her what is coming. She is disarmed and has been supplying us with the numerous candles, baskets, and pots fruitfully. She remains in the town and does not venture elsewhere. How did you come across knowing of her presence?"

"A wildling, Ned? Are you out of your mind? Have you turned away from all that you honor true of the North? I only knew of her existence because of Maester Luwin's return from the South Gate with long white hair in his hand. I saw him and he saw me. You know he cannot lie to me. Yet, it seems to again flow easily from you. He urged me to speak with you for further knowledge and departed with my allowance. Ned, the King, Queen, and his entire family are coming; right through the town into our gates and home. She must leave. She cannot be here when they arrive; you can't be that reckless".

Nodding, Ned presents a solution as though it were not even his own, "I will send her to the wall soon, but in the meantime, I know an imp that requires many candles to light his nightly readings. She works fast and efficiently when noone is watching her. Her face is deformed and unsightly, she will not grace the royal family with her presence I am certain of that." She is right, lies seem to continue to flow like the cold wind that brings them. It was not a complete lie; he is adding to the misinformation given to her by Maester Luwin, but still, he makes no urge to clarify the falsities.

With anger and despair, she looks upon her mate who she entrusts all that she holds dear and nods her head. With the grace of her gods, there must be a reason for his decision. It is for her to trust and follow through. "Gods be good".


	3. Chapter 3: Flight of Light

**Chapter 3: Flight of Light**

 **Legolas**

The end of a long and bloody battle brought Legolas Greenleaf to numbness and disbelief. He stayed behind after ushering his last best friend to the undying lands. He could not leave his mate and her tie to the lands she guards. His daughter too could not board the weirwood boat to the Grey Havens without knowing her mother's fate. They turned to bid the last of their kin farewell and to enter a war that was not theirs for the name of Middle Earth. Here, Legolas stands upon the main gates of Minas Tirith yet again not knowing where his wife and daughter are amongst the corpses of men, dwarves, goblin kin, and beasts. Though men prevailed, at what cost?

The crows had begun feasting on the dead and the aromas of blood, sweat, shit, and urine fill the still airs of Gondor. His stern stomach began to give, but his strong will continues as he calls for Lisiery and Ilsenia in their elven tongue, searching for any bannermen of Gondor to aid in his search.

Groans and cries for mothers and wives lead Legolas to think to himself 'how fragile men are and to the mother spirits they call when their pride breaks with their bodies'. He has seen so many men die in battle and feels an indifference had grown in him over the centuries. The last time he wept for a fallen human comrade was that of Faramir's son who he was Godfather to. Holding a child though fully grown in his arms was unfathomable. It shaped his fear in ever allowing his own daughter to face certain dangers. A thousand years Legolas went unwed, rarely heard of upon elven royalty, especially an elder prince, but war and his forever flying lover made it seem unnecessary to effectuate. His spirit had always been as fresh and flowing as the crystal springs of Ithilien. Even when Ilsenia and he made commitment of their love and future, their fate seemed endless. When the last wood grew strong again, they would

"Lord Commander Greenleaf, we have received news from a raven, your daughter and wife were pulled back to Dol Amroth by the Swan Prince himself. Please come quickly", a fellow Ithilien soldier ushered him. 'Dol Amroth?! Now? That man has wanted Lisiery's hand in marriage since he laid eyes on her. He knew we were to depart from to the Grey Havens after this battle was won.' Legolas spent not another moment further with the fallen. The gift his beloved taught him came to action at this moment when he needed it most. He thought of the animal he needed and whistled east into the air. He brought his hand to the ground and whistled again. The ground trembled and the heaving breath of a nearing steed panged clearly in his elven ears. "I am coming my loves".

 **Winterfell**

Her hands lifted the long wick up and down from the large pot of beeswax she has been tending all day and into the night. 'The Queen's brother requires plenty of light at night, which means, more wax and more wicks'. The words swam through her mind and around her head. Though Maester Luwin provided kindness and some conversation, she knew he did not trust her. This was busy work to keep her in one place. Fortunately, they did not know of her kind and her needless use for sleep. At times she would meditate and venture into the Godswood for conversation with the birds, but she missed being able to roam. This evening, she will visited by Lord Stark's son, Jon Snow to aid in collecting more materials from the surrounding wood. The boy did not speak much and gruffed what words he could in orders. Ilsenia is still a hostile wildling to this one. From what she has witnessed inside the walls, he is seen as a hostile by the lady of the castle. It is his only way to feel superior in his own home.

The wind was strong this evening and the melodies of coldness whistled through the shutters of her quarters. Though cold did not bother her, she kept a fire to present to the human inhabitants that she had a weakness. The fire was only to sooth the frigid wax into submission and into the molds she created. The Queen's brother, the Imp, the Dwarf, these were the names she has gathered for the title Tyrion Lannister. How could one compare a Dwarf to an Imp? They look nothing alike and their mannerisms could not be further from each other as well. Nonetheless, she is eager to spy on this Dwarven lord in hopes he possesses further information of the fate of all our faerie kind. His interest in books would lead to the assumption he is quite scholarly like the Maester and may be willing to trade his texts for her to study as well. It has been some time since she has spoken or even read dwarven words; it seems as though she has time to refresh her memory.

While imagining the vision of Lord Lannister, familiar quarreling words traveled on the wind through her shutters, "Where are you going with that basket of food?! You do not have time to converse with that whore who I still think is your mother! You and her are fortunate that my husband still presides over Winterfell. If he is forced to be Hand, you better damn well believe I will have you both sent out of these walls."

Catelyn Stark barely gave much acknowledgement of Jon's existence, but Ilsenia's discovered presence has not made his time in Winterfell any better. "She is NOT my mother, Lady Stark, and you need not worry about my fate soon enough. Uncle Benjen has accepted my request to ride the northern road to be a crow. I am doing what Lord Stark asks until then". The stress of her nearing the quarters of Ilsenia with him increased but he dare not send her away. The loud stomping of his boots in the mud signaling to Catelyn his frustration is also a hopeful attempt for signaling Ilsenia that more than he is approaching. "I don't care," she hissed. "I intend to see this crone for myself".

Jon knocks on the door with his leather gloved hand, "Mrs...um…" There he realizes Ilsenia had never provided him her surname. He had to compose one from memory in the meantime so that it did not seem he was hiding anything from Lady Stark. "Mrs. Strand, Lady Stark is here to meet with you and see your wares you have produced for the Castle." No sound from inside. Jon takes a deep breath and knocks again before opening the door, "Mrs. Strand, Lady Stark and I would like to meet with you." Jon pushes open the heavy door with an inviting aroma of herbs, dried flowers, honey, hot wax, and a fresh fire engulfing them as they enter the small establishment. Immediately he circles the area with his eyes to see where she could be hiding, but nothing. "Well, where is the woman?!" Catelyn demands as she walks further in searching for inhabitants. In that moment, a speckled grey and white barn owl shrieks with notice and Jon and Catelyn turn suddenly to the one window with a ledge. There, a large and fully intact owl spreads its wings and shrieks again directly at the uninvited guests. On the bedding beside the window lay the peasant gown Jon provided Ilsenia when they took her into custody. It was bunched, and her cloak was gone.

"What in nine hells is this beast doing in here?! Is she a witch too?"

"Mice, Lady Stark. They are beginning to enter the grounds and Mrs. Strand recommended more meat eating birds be around to catch them". This is a lie, or it _could_ be a lie, but he has no idea where the hell his captive has gone without giving him notice, and here is the biggest fiercest owl he has seen in some time. He was not going to flounder in front of the woman who detests him and thinks of him lower than any peasant that has graced the keeps. "She is probably collecting more water for the kettles. Here are her latest candles, taller and wider for Lord Tyrion". Jon motions to the side table where finished candles with intricate designs carved along the bodies circle around with one Dire Wolf as the seal of Winterfell. Jon places the basket of cheeses, meats, bread, and various roots on her table, collecting the empty basket beside the candles. There he began to fill the basket with the finished candles when Catelyn takes one from his hand. She lifts it to the light of the fire and sees the intricacy of carvings and lettering. The lettering she could not completely recognize, but the Stark words she knew by heart. It possessed the most feminine touch and she takes this one for herself. "When you see her, tell her I kept this one and wish to know the meaning of it. Can I trust you to properly relay the messages Snow?"

"Yes Lady Stark". Speedily, Catelyn departs the building without Jon's follow. He chooses to accompany her out the door to watch her make it to the gates without turning back. A slight shift of the furniture brings a noise to Jon's ears and he turns back to the building. There the dark woman with illuminating white hair stood barely clad in her cloak and with bare feet. The owl is nowhere to be found and her fiery yellow eyes pierce Jon to say nothing. Nearing him, her eyes did not waver as she clutches her cloak to conceal her bare body as much as possible. Her feet move beneath the cloak with an intentional silence. Her warm breath met his face, "What did you mean when you said you will become a _Crow?"_


	4. Chapter 4: Wandering Minds

**Chapter 4: Wandering Minds**

"What? How could you possibly hear what I had said so far from here? Not in this wind is it possible." Jon then peers at her ears concluding these malformations must have some effect on her ability to hear. He picks up the gown from her bed and hands it to her, gazing at her long slender and bare arm. He has seen women naked, thanks to Theon - constantly urging him to lose his "maidenhood" as he would joke, but often he just had no urge to lose it to a woman so eager to give it up to a stranger. Here is a woman, at least she appears to be one, with a body unscathed by northern relentlessness. How old is she? How does she not even know what it means to be a crow? Are wildlings that stupid?

"I heard you say to Lady Stark you were to become a _crow?_ Are you to be a wizard's apprentice? You are certainly not a druid, at least, you are too old to become one. What is this right of passage that takes you from your home and family?" Ilsenia takes the gown from Jon, turning away from him but also giving him the eye over her shoulder that he should do the same. For sometimes being labeled as a dolt, he catches her message clearly and turns away sheepishly. "Magic, there is no magic in all of Westeros, not for a thousand years, at least what Maester Luwin and Septa Mordane say. Though, I believe she says it with a darker turn on events to frighten Bran and Arya to stay in line". He chuckles to himself. He used to eat up the stories as much as Arya does now. Her arm reaches toward Jon and taps his shoulder to motion that she is dressed and ready to depart from the dwelling with him. After he brings food and materials, he often escorts her in the woods outside of Winterfell to collect more unique items to work with and additional herbs for her cooking. Mostly, he enjoyed whatever would aid in him getting away from the walls with the ability to brandish a sword in case of wildlings and poachers. As out of nowhere, Ghost appears at her doorstep awaiting her usual greeting and embraces.

The wind calms as they near the dense woods and the hum of leaves and branches invite them to wander in the moonlight. Ghost jumps through and under foliage, and over turned logs and debris. Jon's eyesight is fairly keen, with young and accustomed vision for staying outside all hours, but functioning only on moonlight makes it challenging to keep up with the woman and his own companion before him. Ilsenia senses his hesitant footsteps behind him as they deepen further into the wooded lands. With comfort of Jon's company, and reassurance she means not to run from him, Ilsenia pulls the cowl down from her cloak to reveal the gift her hair brings when moonlight shines upon it.

The radiance of the lunar globe dances upon Ilsenia's follicles. She sparkles with light and metallic flecks. Never has he seen such a celestial oddity in his entire life. Never had he even imagined in wildest dreams from the tales of old of such a creature as her. "Your hair," he stumbles to say, "what what is making it do that? What are you really? N-n-never have I seen such a thing in my life". Ilsenia chuckles, "your life? You have barely lived and from what I have gathered, it has existed the most of its time behind stone walls. Would you even entertain a single thing I would tell you of myself, my people, and where I come from?" Their footsteps continue to a quiet brook, the same brook Ghost was pulled from his dead mother to Jon's embrace. He offers his arm to her to help her down the steep ledge onto the earthen bank. With respect to his offer, though not needing it in the least, she takes his hand and walks to the bank and kneels to the water. There her clay vessel collects large volumes of fresh water that sings great energy of fortitude. As the container nears filling, she turns her head to Jon who continues to stare at her back, "I am an elf of Ithilien, an eastern kingdom of Gondor. My gifts come from my dark elf heritage and that of the nature and lands that surround me. The light of my hair has been passed down for generations, though my daughter's was more golden than silver." The utterance of her child as a past being brought her hands numb, almost letting loose the vessel into the stream. The sudden slip pulls her back to focus and she brings it to her side covering it. "I am not human, and I am fairly certain I am not what Maester Luwin theorizes as a child of the forest. However, a thousand years is time enough for humans to muddy the truth and distort history. As you have said, it has been used to scare children to order or lull them into dream at night." The conclusion of this last statement brought her eyes to wander upon the rocks dwelling deeper in the water. There her memories flowed of terrors she had lived and fought against, both material and abyssal. "Is it possible for me to gain more books and scrolls to read? Though they may seem like children's stories, I would surely appreciate educating myself of Westerosi traditions and folklore." Without bothering to insult Ilsenia with his inherent doubt of her ability to read, he nods and aids her collecting the roots from beneath the stones of the stream.

 **Morning**

The thunder of the hunting party echoes far from the walls of Winterfell. The bastard returns the unwanted horse tackle, shovels the shit of the King's horse that waited ages for the fat man to mount the poor beast. The lines of Lannister hoofprints stare back at him in the mud to remind him of what money and a name can entitle you with. Time can not pass soon enough for Jon to depart from the scours of Lady Stark and the secretive praise of his father. It is time for him to be an equal and be a hero to the seven kingdoms. More time than naught he spends his time in the courtyard sparring with a dummy, near to the library. The request runs through his mind at that moment, 'perhaps I can borrow some more books to learn of Westerosi history and the folktales that used to keep you up at night when you were a child'. Shoveling the last batch of steamy hot shit, Jon peers up at the library tower to see if he can grant that request.

A short sharp whistle to Ghost and they were both off to Maester Luwins study grounds in the castle library. "Jon, where're you going with Ghost? Are you off to see the witch?" young Brandon Stark with long floppy hair trotted upon Jon on his way to the library. Behind him frolicks his dire pup, Summer. "The witch?! Bran who's filling your head now? No, there's no witch. I'm going to the library, to look for a...er...um book or two. I can't be just hacking at ol' straw Barney all day and night. I need to keep up with my reading and writing too. Just like you little brother. Come with me and maybe we can find you some more stuffy books on lords, ladies, and their fancy sigils." Jon pokes Bran in the shoulder smiling and Bran sticks his tongue out in disgust, "I want to learn more about the wall. One day I want to climb it. You know the maker of the wall was…" "King Brandon Stark or Bran the Builder, yes I know. You tell me every time you talk about the Wall and everytime you talk about climbing the walls of Winterfell looking for White Walkers and Giants". Jon kneels down to Bran's height and looks him in the eyes, "I'll tell you what, I'll find you one of the old drawings of Winterfell's design and the Wall's design if you promise me to work on your aim in the archery post and stay out of trouble while I look for them". Bran looks down and remembers what his mother said to him about how she knows when he is lying by how he looks down before speaking. In that moment, he catches himself and decides to tell a _half_ truth to his brother by looking at his forehead while he replies, "alright, I'll try to stay out of trouble".

With a click of his boot heels, Bran is off with Summer to the archery range. Jon watches him for a moment and then proceeds to the library tower. When Bran sees that Jon has disappeared, he turns right away back toward the first keep to the abandoned tower to try and spy any Wildlings coming from the North.

Jon makes his climb without Ghost to the main part of the library. He has no certainty he'll find anything he's looking for and knows that he should be down watching over the yards. Maester Luwin's presence is empty when Jon reaches his study quarters. There, Jon sees scrolls of the first men, the children of the forest, the fist of the first men, and the building of Winterfell. He cannot just take what is clearly in process of studying on Maester Luwin's desk, but he also spies where he had taken the scrolls from and collects some surrounding books and maps in hopes they will suffice both of his needy readers. A shimmer of light catches his eye from the table filled with scrolls and books. There pressed between parchment paper are strands of white hair. Some look exactly like the hairs if Ilsenia, shimmering and metallic. The others are shorter and possess a yellow tone to the wavy white strands. 'What are these for? Why does he need Ilsenia's hair?' Jon questions in his mind. One scroll falls from the folds of a book he is leaning on. It is the royal Targaryen family lineage. 'Could Maester Luwin possibly believe she is in relation to the Targaryens? Is that a Targaryen's hair? Which one's?' Jon gently strokes the hairs in wonder and is suddenly disrupted by the howl of two desperate Dire Wolf pups. As Jon rushes down the stairs a shriek of sheer terror echoes throughout Winterfell, "Brrrrraaandon! My baby! Gods no! Not my baby!"


	5. No Room for Regret in the Great Game

**Chapter 5: No Room for Regret in the Great Game**

Dashing frantically down the ancient and steep library tower, Jon makes it to the entrance as other servants race to the old tower where Lady Stark is wailing. 'How could he be so stupid and selfish to keep Bran from his watch?'

"Stay away from him! Don't you dare touch him! This is your fault!" shredding eyes and yells of fury fly from Catelyn Stark to the bastard she wishes to be free from. Her body kneeling to the ground holds a still body of her precious Brandon. His eyes closed and with the face of an angel. Shaking in fear and ferocity, her eyes rise to the sky. Rocking in the same way she used to rock him as a babe, "Seven Gods, give mercy and bring my Bran back to me. Mother, heal his body and bring him life again". Maester Aemon came racing to the site shouting an order, "Jon, pick him up and carry him to his quarters! I have my poultices with me, but I am uncertain how well they will work."

Without hesitation, Jon lifted Bran into his arms as Catelyn holds firmly to Bran's body, "No! No, no no no! Don't hurt him!" With the calmest promise, "I would never and I will get him there the fastest" and Jon was already nearing the keep where his siblings' quarters prevail. Catelyn was far behind hauling her dress to her waist in fury that she could not keep up with Jon. Without any care for formalities of entering Bran's quarters, he barges in and places him upon his vast bed with ample pillows and blankets. There a shriek of a familiar owl comes from Bran's window.

There it is. The magnificent spotted owl is there again. This time, it is carrying a parcel in its beak. It then drops it on the ledge and turns to fly from the room as Lady Stark, Septa Mordane, and Maester Luwin enter the room. "Close the damn window!" shrilled Catelyn to Jon. Involuntarily, his body jerks to the window and slams the frame shut, grabbing the parcel to examine without prying eyes. That woman's venom can send him into subservancy without any chance of refusal. The package brings ease to his shame and distracts him from her ongoing hatred of him.

In his calloused hands is a burlap cloth tied with the same twine she has been crafting for the candle wicks. The aroma of the outer part of the burlap fumes with intimate earthiness of Ilsenia's dwelling. It is as though she is looking after him and his sanity. Opening the delicate packaging, a small bar of what looks like bathing soap appears. The scent enters his nostrils and his eyes shut; it is the fresh stream in the wood they frequent. It is the strange roots she pulls from under the cobbles. It is the pines her hair would catch as she walked along the bank of the brook. It is her hair. Her hair. Jon's eyes open in shock to see within the bar are strands of Ilsenia's opalescent hair. His fingers streak across the small piece in awe. 'Is this for him?' he wonders. 'Or is this meant for Bran?' Jon turns to see them tending to his little brother so still in the bed. Though he can see her weeping in hysteria, not a sound from her fills his ears. He looks down at the bar and then up to find Maester Luwin looking intensely at him.

"Give me the bar Jon. Septa, please bring the hot water here." Maester Luwin places the bar in the shallow bowl of steaming water pulled from Bran's fireplace. The fragrance fills the room as though it has always smelled this way. Catelyn Stark begins to settle and neal to the side of Bran, becoming restful; her hand still clenching Bran's. Septa Mordane stares at the Maester in shock and then down at the bowl. "What manner of healing is this?" Maester Luwin shook his head and then peers in her eyes, "it is to heal the Tully and Stark blood". A small cloth is placed in the bowl and Maester Luwin ushers to Jon to help him turn Bran and expose his back. In gentle motions, Catelyn watches Maester Luwin swab Bran's head, neck, spine, and entire back. As Bran rolls back, Jon takes the cloth from his hand and places the towel again in the bowl and then upon Bran's chest, dripping steaming remnants that make their way to his nose. The chest begins to move and Bran's nostrils enlarge. No sound, but there is movement.

 **Legolas - The Approach of Dol Amroth**

Alphros the Prince of Dol Amroth's passing seemed only a moment ago to Legolas. The succession that followed the dillusional man brought only more vanity and insanity to the feudal borders of Gondor. Ethrian sired a son whose sole purpose as heir was to wed the daughter of the last remaining elves of Gondor, Legolas and Ilsenia. Imrahil, second of his name was nowhere as great and valient of a Prince as the man first of their name. Faramir would tell Legolas tales of the battle of Osgiliath, fending off what left they had as the Orcs and Nazgul overran the land. Imrahil, first of his name, against the guidance of his father, took 700 men to defend Faramir's part as they retreated to Minis Tirith. The sanity of the families who inhabited the lands of Dol Amroth have been precarious at best. Never will the diluted blood of his people and those of egoistic men ever taint the last of his family. This time, he holds no mercy to the Prince who would see himself be King of Lothlorien.

The winds of Gondor favor Legolas every league his mare covers. Leaving his plated elven armor behind has provided him the freedom and levity needed to close the gap between him and Ilhamril's swans. It will take another day at this speed and he cannot burden this gentle creature anymore. Nearing a vast and Heather-full plain, Legolas calls upon his gift again to summon another able steed to complete his journey. Soon, the pounding of the ground is coupled with the hooves of a shimmering mahogany Bay stallion. It nears the side of the mare and permits Legolas without any presence of encumbrance to mount him in mid travel to continue forth. The mare slows and whinnies as they wane from her view. The journey brings an ache to the Elven prince's heart. He fears the fate of his wife and child. The tie that spiritually binds him to Ilsenia seems absent in the fury of bringing an end to the half-wit Prince of Dol Amroth. Finding oneness with the being that carries his body, he quiets himself into a meditation to search deeper for his lover.

Sadness, disparity, and emptiness overwhelms the prince and the horse frantically rears up and bucks him from his back. His dexterous qualities engage and he lands upon his feet as the steed trots off. A whisper escapes his reserved lips, "Ilsenia, what has happened?" It echoes in the air around him and feels nothing will retrieve his words, nor answer.

 **Goodbyes**

The clang of metal and the puff of the bellows have always been music to Jon at Winterfell. Mikken's hefty laughs and determined grunts are the thunder that drives the music. His sword was made here in Mikken's fires. It's steel strong and sharp. Every day he'd wet the blade and imagine his future with the Night's Watch at Castle Black. It is the destination for thieves, murderers, rapists, and traitors to the crown. It is also the place for bastards who hold no title to their father's land. Uncle Benjen is a Ranger of the Night's Watch, and he is none of those men. What drove his Uncle to take the Oath and swear off his title as a Stark of Winterfell? The woofs of the smithy bellows bring Jon back to awareness that his gift should be ready.

Mikken turns to Jon with a joyful smile and a twinkle in his eye as he hands the lad a long and thin blade, far too slender for the use of a Crow at the wall. "Do you have any leather I can wrap this in?" Jon turns to peruse the stocks of Mikken's smithy. The proud man pulls a fine maple color leather patch, long enough and wide to properly secure the newly constructed blade. With gratitude and contentment, Jon firmly grasps his friend's shoulder and thanks him. The smith nods and pats Jon on the back, "Good fortune to you son. May the Gods, old and new watch over you and yours."

In his Stark siblings' quarters, a bark and a girl's command echo in the hall. "Nymeria, bring me my glove! You can do it, girl!" Jon nears Arya's door and spies a young girl with brown braids and woolen dress, sleeves far too full for a wild spirit like her. In a furious temper, she shoves her clothes in a trunk upon her bed. Huffing and grumbling, only Nymeria hears Jon enter the room. The loyal dire wolf whimpers and Arya turns to see her favorite brother close in. "Septa Mordane says I have to do it again. My things aren't properly folded. Who cares how they are folded? They're going to get messed up anyway?!" Jon smiles to the side and peers around the room to see how his little shadow is doing with the important duty placed upon her by Septa Mordane. "It's good you have help," Jon suggests with a nod to her pup. Proudly, Arya orders, "Watch, Nymeria, gloves." The creature tilts her head to the side and moans. "Impressive," Jon concludes. "Shut up, Watch", snaps his sister. "Nymeria, gloves". Nothing.

"I have something for you, but you have to pack it away very carefully". Jon presents the slender bundle to an eager and elevated Arya. He presents Arya the gift of an exquisitely designed blade in a leather scabbard made just for her stature. "First lesson, stick them with the pointy end", Jon smiles while sternly looking her in the eyes. "I know which end to use". Holding her shoulder and neck, "I'm going to miss you". Arya leaps into Jon's arms squeezing her brother as tight as she possibly can.

The departing party gathers at the Southern gates. The Red Haired Lady of the Keep was nowhere to be found to farewell her daughters and husband. She had made her thoughts unforgettable in the chambers of her son. This is beyond most ventures the Stark girls have gone. It haunts and thrills the eldest daughter greatly that she is now the Lady representing the Stark name in the Capital. She will be Queen one day. Sansa urges herself to raise her head and carry herself the way Queen Cersei proudly does. Her back tenses and her barely present chest lifts high. Sansa's chin elevates to practice looking down on those will someday call her "Your Grace". A wide smile can no longer hide from her fair and stoic face. 'This is actually going to happen'.

The King's company lead the journey on the road to the Capital. Roads green with rolling hillsides press travelers back south from the Northern Kingdom of Westeros. The sun still smiles upon the travelers while Summer begins to fade, and ancient boulders positioned upright in the earth appear as humble guardians keeping watch on the foreigners as they pass through. Lord Stark loses his thoughts in the memories of passing down these roads as a much younger man. Following the honor of his proud father and brother, he made his march with his dearest friend who is now King to take the Kingdom back from madness. Is this happening again? This time the King is not mad, is it the Queen and her family preparing to disintegrate all that is left of order and honor? All in time for Winter to return and consume those betrayed. A chill rises in Stark's body. The warm Stark wolf cloak cannot protect the man from the foreseeable dangers he is bringing himself and his daughters into.

Seventeen years ago, he rode saying goodbye to his beautiful new bride, pregnant with their first child. In search for his beloved sister and the fate that flew around, rumors that the Prince had stolen her and defiled her to spite the leader of the rebellion against the mad king. At that time, he believed these rumors, and yet a part of him knew his sister had fancied the comely prince. Memories of Lyanna begin rushing into his mind like the rivers his wife once called home. Her face, so young and trusting of the man she traveled to marry, giving up her homeland to a foreign place. Ned's hand twitches under his horse's reins, the memory of raising his hand to his bride's cheak to wipe the tears consumes his body to relive the moment again. Stark leaves his family divided and in an uncertain destiny. His eldest daughter, a mirror of Catelyn in features, but complete opposites in ambition rides proudly to enter the corrupt game of thrones. Of all the Starks, she was the first to pack and board the carriage that would carry her to the Lions' den. Gods help her in the months to come. May her keen spirit catch onto the ever changing rules, or lack there of in this wicked game they are about to begin.

 **The Lion and the Druid**

The calico stranger is reserved and silent in so many ways, but her stare upon the Lannister brother is as hot and invasive as the interrogators for the crown. Tyrion has been eager to meet the wildling that will ride with his party to the wall. She had been described as a witch and a crone, none of which he has seen evidence of. The woman's skin is as taught and fresh as a Dornish virgin princess. 'Ha', he thought to himself, 'if that were the case, she'd be an infant. Dornish women bed as soon as they can find the region between their beautiful thighs.' Shaking his head to refocus and not be aroused while riding a clumsy steed, Tyrion turns his head over his shoulder and slows the mount to a shuffle to await the stranger's presence. The spotted mount that brings the hooded stranger to his side stops and the woman's head turns to look him dead-straight in the face. Arousal was not where he was going, but fear and thrill filled the little man's body from nose to toes.

"Is there something you wish to talk about in regards to my, _stature_?" the imp snaps at her as a defense mechanism for being off his natural wits and composure. "Yes, I've heard it all before; 'they don't keep my kind alive in your lands, or we are food for the dogs, and so on and so on'". An elegant smile widens on the woman's skin, starry brown like the moonstones Tyrion has seen imported from ships to King's Landing. 'I'm in love. Wait, what? This goddess is invading my dignity and all I have as a man. How can I suddenly be in love?' Tyrion battles himself as the words begin to flow from her full lips. "You are not a dwarf."

"Excuse me?" Tyrion engages his horse to pursue her as she continues her horse beyond his ears. "You are not a dwarf. I had great hopes that I would be able to speak with one of the children of Durin's folk. I am not saying that I do not enjoy the Halfling kin, but often their knowledge is limited to their own realms and not of the traders beyond." Tyrion's trot follows her pace and provides him a moment to organize the bombardment of foreign terms served to him from a silvery tongue. "Ha-ha-halfling you say? That's a new one. Yes, I get it; I am half a man".

Her sharp golden eyes tear into him and a scowl of disdain fills her face. "Will you stop it. Oh boo hoo, I'm not as tall as my brother and sister. I am the only one who has to use a ladder to mount my ride. Your people have stolen all dignity from the cherished history of the gallant Hobbits. It is strange which lineage chooses to surface in mixed couplings." Her mind wanders to the features of her only daughter and the strength of both her own blood and that of her mate's bringing forth a perfect union as Lesiery. "They have taught you to succumb to the normalities of men and then assess your impotencies".

"Impotencies! Well, if all the rumors have not yet met your ears, I truly loathe the name, 'Imp' and am far from impotent in the areas that count" Ilsenia chuckles and the beautiful twinkle of her cat eyes and the warmth of her rising lips gives confidence back in Tyrion that his wit is still flourishing and this ride may indeed be a host of an enjoyable tournament.


	6. Chapter 6: Uprooting

**Chapter 6: Uprooting**

 **King's Road**

Northern roads wax and wane like the moon and winters. Approaching the crossing for the Wall, a multitude of hoof prints and carriage tracks bombard the green land, mixing and mashing what is road and what was once peaceful grasses. The bannered stags and lions move on heading with joy to the south. Five horses separate from the party continuing toward Castle Black, the largest manned castle for the Nights Watch of Westeros. Jon and his father pause at the crossroads for their goodbyes.

Squinting in the strong sun, unprotected by woods or steep hills, Ned looks back to Jon searching for words of wisdom and approval. "There is a great honor in serving the Night's Watch. Starks have manned the wall for thousands of years. You are a Stark. You may not have my name, but you have my blood." Jon looks out beyond to the imagined castle and the valiant knights who protect these lands from all things dark and dangerous. "Is my mother still alive? Does she know about me? Does she know where I am going?" Ned's chest lifts in discomfort and sadness. "The next time I see you, we'll talk about your mother. This I promise." Without debating the sullen man, Jon's nod is the only way he can say he accepts those terms, but he is not fond of the time he must wait. Lord Stark's time in the South will be a long and dismal time Jon imagines. This he and his dispising step-mother can agree on at least that.

Stark's journey continues south and without hesitation after his last farewell, he collects his horse into a cantor to make pace with the leading royal company. The weight of his cloak begins to weigh heavier, his conscience wonders if it is furs, or his uncertainty that pulls him deeper into the mare's saddle. What fate has his decision brought upon his family?

As father Stark parts way with his cub, the youngest of the Lannister lions eagerly turns with his chaperones toward the Wall that protects all of Westeros from the dark creatures and wildlings that threaten our livelihoods. 'Bah, I'm just looking forward to the dirtiest of Northern women, present my cock to the world and piss on all that is beneath me. For once, I will be higher than any nobleman, especially my father'. Tyrion's broad smile widens so far his face begins to ache with the winter wind. He looks back to his invisible brother who has long since ventured further and nods to the path that he chooses to not take. "Goodbye brother. Make good choices… as good as your Lion soul will allow".

 **The Ranger and the Druid**

The black-haired ranger and his mount couple the pace of the undetermined captive woman. 'What in nine hells am I supposed to do with her? No women are allowed at the castle, and I sure as hell have no time to be her non-stop captor. Why the hell didn't Ned just do away with her? His soft heart will be the undoing of him. What makes her so frightening for a man of Ned's stature to question all logic and spare her life? Jon will take the black and there is no future he would have with this strange creature. Why the hell am I dragging her arse all the way to Castle Black?!' A deep breath rises and exhales as his eyes shift to his right to view Ilsenia. For little over ten and five years, Benjen Stark has honored the position as First Ranger of the Night's Watch. This he'd rather take over than partaking in the useless dances of lords and ladies of Westeros. It is a simple charge that comes naturally to a northerner. This he sees in his nephew as well. For the same length of time, he knows this lad has taken on all the torture and nonsense of the lords and ladies of Winterfell with little to no complaint. It is locking a wolf in a cage and asking it to play nice with the children. It brings joy to see the raven haired boy grow and rise above all of it and head to the north with his ghostly Dire Wolf. He will do fine.

"You look like him, in a way." A conversation starter arises from Ilsenia toward the ranger. "What's that? I look like who?" "You look like your nephew, or should I say it more properly that he looks like you". A smile rises to the left of Benjen's face, "aye, there's definitely Stark blood in that one. Whoever the mother may be, her blood is no match for the stubborn dark wood hair of the Stark. I think the only part of Jon got from his mother is his fair complexion and frame." Their staring eyes upon the bastard wolf linger and then acknowledge that Jon will soon be beside them. "You could have saved him you know." Ilsenia looks the Ranger in his grey eyes. "How so?" Benjen entertains her. "He could have been your bastard and loved even more by his family. Your brother doomed him the day he brought him to Winterfell. His fate was sealed then." The thought echoes in Stark's body, trying to shake a dead bird from a sap-coated branch. This stranger's mind and care is not like any wildling he's come across, nor her features. Could she possibly have descended from the Forest Children who once roamed the larger lands of Westeros? The conversation will have to cease until there is another moment they can be alone. Jon's approach on the left of Benjen shows a moment of distrust and then a relaxation to curiosity.

Ilsenia nods to both relations and squeezes the sides of her spotted mount to speed the pace back to the Hobbit lord. Jon and Benjen both follow her movement anxiously to confirm her pace would slow at Tyrion's presence. Their hands relax on their sword hilts; both realizing their matched instincts, a light chuckle breaks from their smiles. With the reduction of her gate to a walk, a beautiful smile appears intoxicatingly upon her. The voyeurist realization of their lengthy gaze arises uncomfortably and suddenly. Almost in unison, their heads center and look beyond their horizon to the snow capped mountains that begin to approach. "We have a few stops before Castle Black," Benjen offers to Jon to break the awkward silence. "You are not the only one taking the black soon". Unknowing who might else he see join the group, Jon's thought of an honorable service to the people of Westeros being placed upon any stranger will unite them in the brotherhood of the Watch.

 **Pentos**

The warm free air blows strong on the coastal city of Pentos. Home to the wealthiest and freest of peoples. Slaves do not wander into the ports of this city, nor leave the shores, with the exception of the Unsullied whose sole purpose is to protect the Prince Magister and the wellbeing of Pentos' future. Unsullied soldiers, men with no ties to money, fame, family, or personal futures. They only kill and that is all they are good at. The agreement from the Great city of Bravos, promises they will hold the same customs and standards as their brother city in order to make viable credible commerce with the continent of Westeros. Fine stonework is present in every building with foreign brilliant ceramic tiles embedded to the entry ways and sites of great distinction. The trading city's flora and fauna is vast and fruitful as its styles of art and fashion. Animals native to the western continent are present and yet coupled with far larger and exotic beasts and beauties. Lions of Westeros have long been extinct but flourish like common house cats in the exotic lands of Essos. Parrots of scarlet reds, phthalo blues, and golden yellows are greeters in almost every household. Radiant Cockatoos with lavish streaks of yellow are particularly favored by the Magister of Trade, Illyrio Mopatis.

Illyrio's support for the once royal family of Westeros has never been a secret in Essos. The safeguarding of the two dragon children has never been a challenge his purse could not extinguish. Though the fates of his city depends upon his wisdom and good fortune, the responsibility of Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen was a fairly simple task except for one part. Cutthroats and secret Baratheon assassins are easily out-paid or slain by his Unsullied, but Viserys' ambition and tongue was another issue all on its own. The young prince's appetite for the throne and all the lavish accessories that go with the title consumed the entire city of Pentos. Waiting for his army and riches, Viserys gathers his entertainment in telling grand stories of his heritage and his kingdom to come to handmaidens and noblewomen. All eager to hear the stories in his lap or bed.

The youngest, Daenerys finds peace and solitude in the gardens of Illyrio's full of various creatures entertaining her curiosity with playful scrimmages and vocal competitions. The albino sable cat curls upon her lap while she watches a grand and foreign tree being dug up and packed like the colossal statues of Pentos. Its bark as white as her hair, with a face crying red sap, mirroring her hidden emotions. It mourns for her innocence and her uncertainty of her fate that is an ongoing bargaining stone in Viserys' game for the throne. What pulls her curiosity deeper is the fire red leaves that have never changed all the time she has stayed here. The leaves come and go, but the tree never bare. It is the sadness, the love, the giving nature, and the rage that dwells in the dragon girl. All come and go but always balancing to stay true to herself.

"It is a Hartwood from the Northern lands of Westeros my princess", Illyrio closes up behind her sending a moment of tightness in her posture, but then relaxing knowing it is one of the only people she finds some comfort in conversing with. "Why is it being dug up and how did it find its place in your garden?" The cat extends out from her lap and lazily continues its day down a stoned path full of scattering birds. Daenerys turns her body to look upon Illyrio to await his answers. "It has been in these gardens before I was even deemed Magister of Pentos. They are a rare tree, once I believe, covering all of the northern lands of Westeros. Not all have the face that cries for their children. These are the Hartwood trees. The others are weirwoods, sisters to the one who weeps. This one," Illyrio gestures to the tree being carefully wrapped in burlap and embraced with sacks of water and twine, "has been purchased by a collective that paid a wealth of coin as great as a year's earning in Pentos. I could not say no to them. I would be a fool to." Gently patting her shoulder with sincerity, "Come my Princess, your brother has requested you begin your preparation for the Khal's arrival. I hope the gown has met your needs for the occasion."

Daenerys' head looks straight into the wood, losing herself in his stories, her body answers for her without a moment of hesitation, "yes, it is beautiful and you flatter me, my Lord. Thank you." Illyrio turns in his draped clothing to return to his estate to continue the preparations for the Dothraki Lord and his tribe. Daenerys does not move and begins to realize she is no longer staring at the tree, for it had been packed up and carried from the garden. Her gaze was burning a hole through the place where it once stood so regally. 'I too once had a great family of dragons that covered the lands it ruled. I too was plucked from my home, taken to a foreign land that is not mine, and now, I am being _plucked_ up again, sold to the highest bidder for the betterment of others'. Her emotionless features begin to tighten with the thoughts running through her mind; a fire flickers in her eyes. She is determined to take hold of her destiny as best as she can. She will tell her brother that she will not marry the barbarian.


	7. Chapter 7: Hartwood Arrow

**Chapter 7: Hartwood Arrow**

 **Thieves, Murderers, and Rapists**

The band of six soon became the band of nine and then a dozen. Each morning Ilsenia would stay at the camp with Jon, Tyrion, and the two Lannister bannermen. Benjen would venture into the passing villages, gathering the latest recruits for the Night's Watch. Meager farm boys of Jon's age stumble in ropes like prisoners, only for the First Ranger to free them as they sit by the shared fires. Tyrion's eyes keep record of the 'latest and greatest' that the Night's Watch will soon have to offer to protect the seven realms from the darkest of dangers. A smile widens as he watches Jon's doubtful assessment of those who come to share his camp, then he brings his focus back to the borrowed book from Maester Luwin's library, 'The Longest Winter'. The thought that these men would give up their ability to lay with another woman, hold titles, and venture free from the soon approaching frozen wasteland is beyond him. Chuckling to himself, 'I will have to make sure to not get caught murdering or stealing'.

"Not impressed by your new brothers?" Tyrion pokes at Jon. The latest installment of the Night's Watch were a band of rapers. He wonders if Jon is embarrassed that they are not the same as him, misunderstood bastards. "Luckily, you are able to discard your family for a new one." Jon looks back at his Uncle so calmly sharing the same fire with men who would try dishonor a maiden in one moment if they were armed. "Why do you read so much?" He then switches his mind back to the dwarf who is eagerly trying to raise his feathers. There the two brought light into their dim histories, sharing wine, witty jabs, and mockingly compose impressions of the new recruits. 'We all must do our part for our families' honor' continues to swim in Jon's head with the red southern wine. 'Tyrion reads to become a wiser opponent. What will be my gift to my brothers at Castle Black? How will I honor my Uncle so that he will boast about it to my father upon his next visit to Winterfell?'

Now a little more tossed than he has been in a long time, Jon rises as stoically as possible before the Lannister Lord and turns. Passing the men as he heads to a solo tree, he overhears their shared gossip of Ilsenia. "Have you ever seen a silver haired bitch like that? I wonder if the hair matches down there." The bearded meathead as Tyrion and Jon have labeled him continues to press on his curiosity of how between her legs would feel and if she was a foreign cunt from the South. Guardedly Jon finishes his business and returns to Ilsenia's camp near his Uncle. "I don't think you should be going anywhere without someone being near you if you know what I mean", Jon leans in. Ilsenia smiles and then looks back from where Jon had come, "are you suggesting that YOU should follow me and guard me while I relieve myself? This would not be a problem if you two would return me my things that your father refused to give back upon my departure." Benjen chuckles, "You'll get them when you walk back through the wall from where you came. You'll need them if you ever try to set foot back in Westeros. You're fortunate enough to not be tied up and gagged. Jon speaks for you and you have been plenty civil with me, but it in no way means I'm going to arm you when I have so many to look after. You don't see me giving blades to these blokes."

"Agreed. Well then, Jon, it looks as though you will indeed have to escort me to a private area so that I can do as nature calls". Ilsenia gathering her cloak around her stands before the both of them and begins walking past the men further into the wooded area. Jon glances at Benjen and his uncle nods back. Stomping past the men, two were missing from the circle. "Where'r the others?" Jon looks at the more honest looking of the bunch, "they went to piss," they muttered looking down away from his stare. Jon looks up and notices that Ilsenia is far from his watch and his knowledge of the other men's whereabouts is dimmer than tar. He quickens his pace into the woods to find the two circling Ilsenia as her back is to a tree. One of them had their hand upon her throat, but she seemed not to struggle and in no duress.

Without question, Jon runs to shove meathead to the side, dropping them both to the ground. Straddling the braggart, Jon pulls his glove to brandish a bare fist to the man's head. As the two tossle on the ground, the skinnier one is trying to wrap his arms around Ilsenia. Her strength is that of a dark elf, not that of her mate's but stronger than a common man. She easily broke free of the skinny one's bond to turn and knee him in the groin. With twine she has been keeping since Winterfell, she knees him again on the ground to get him onto his stomach. There, in a brief moment, his arms were behind his back and tied tightly. She then progresses to aid Jon with the heavier man by grabbing one of his hands and breaking his two smaller fingers. A yell in agony arises and Jon knocks him to the ground. With blood and spit falling from his mouth, "I'll kill you and this bitch when I have a chance boy."

 **The Wall**

The snow came calling to the party of misfits, and nobles. The wind carries a sharp and bitter level of resentment to those who do not call the north home. Tyrion pulls his cloak closer and his bannermen tighten their helmets to keep any and all heat from escaping. Jon has known the cold and all that comes with it. He had barely survived the last winter when he was just a boy. Now, he is dedicating his life to the frozen mistress that stretches her arms from one side of Westeros to the other. The snow sticks to the ground and small flurries blow around the horses as they near a high hill. There in their sights is the Wall that everyone knows about and speaks of, but never have they seen the enormity of the structure. It dwarves Castle Black to the size of a beggar's hut. The smoke from the chimneys surrender to the height of the Builder's Wall, never making it to the guard points up top.

The Ranger approaches with great pride and appreciation in the colossal structure and turns to look at the gaping mouths of his nephew, the Lannister Lord, the new recruits, and surprisingly, the girl. "Welcome," Stark smiled at them. The Ranger could piss on King's Landing from atop of the wall if the castle stood at the base. What he would give for all the Lords and Ladies to see what keeps them safe and warm in their homes every night. Collecting his mare, he begins the cantor down to the gates while the rest still gawk at the wonder.

Ilsenia had never seen anything like the wall. The gates to Mordor were a close second, but a far second at best. The magic in this structure radiated in the wind and she felt every fragment in it feeding her spirit once again. This is no ordinary fortification made by common men. This, this was a collaborative effort like so many kingdoms she has graced in Middle Earth. These are the gates that will lead her home. Waking from her dream of returning to her husband, she clasps her necklace and relaxes, then too prompts her horse to make haste behind Benjen.

 **The Swan's Castle**

Legolas of Mirkwood, ruling Prince to the last of his people who have not sailed westward, battles over and over through his mind how he will find his wife, daughter, and avenge any dark deed put upon them. The smell of the ocean bay fills the winds thicker and thicker as he sprints the remaining grassy range of Dol Amroth's kingdom. His long bow with his wife's hair braided tightly to make the strongest string is fastened to his back; his long elven daggers, sheathed behind as well to aid in his speed; all are ready for whatever comes upon him. The arrows, Ilsenia had made for him before the Battle of Tribes in Minas Tirith. Only a few remain. They will not miss their marks. In a calming effect, he brings his right hand to his chest to feel his marriage pendent, a green and silver leaf coupled with an onyx and silver falcon feather. He has had this piece for two centuries and 5. Never has it been far from his body, and he looks forward to seeing its mate soon.

The eastern gates are formidable but none like the western gates of the city that has long fought off raiders and creatures of the deep. They will be expecting him and he shall not disappointment them. 'It is easier to go through the front door than climb through the window,' Mithrandir once told him in his younger years. Those are some of the fondest memories Legolas possesses. The grand battles with his truest friends, the King of all Gondor and the Druid of Lothlorien, the Great Wizard, and his late lover, Gimli. He had promised him once that they would sail to the undying lands, but his love for Ilsenia kept him from boarding the vessel with the dwarf. The love triangle was a challenge and was once a diamond. Ilsenia too had a dwarven lover, a century before then but close to Gimli's family, nonetheless. The stubbornness of dwarves always confirmed elven assumptions on the lifestyles of Durin's folk. Thorin and Gimli broke those conventional labels and melded well with Ilsenia and Legolas.

Thorin was a brute, selfish, and one-sided in Legolas' experience, but his wife was the dwarf's brightest star that guided him to reason and compassion. In his dying words, he had called her his only Arkenstone he would ever need. The mortal passing of the great King of the Lonely Mountain broke Ilsenia for six decades. Legolas could not comfort her on her journey back to Lothlorien, and chose to continue to the last realms of the Dunedain. The family of Dain, wound themselves deeply into the elves he cared for. Kili, nephew to the Dwarf King had stolen the heart of the beautiful wild ranger Tauriel and broke it upon his death. Then a wave of disgust rushed over him thinking of Tauriel. Shortly after the passing of Kili, his father charismatically persuaded her to return with him to Mirkwood, then seduced and married her. His adolescent infatuation became his second mother. He never returned to the Northern Woodland Kingdom again.

The gates of Dol Amroth great and intricately designed with silver swans and elven ships tower above the lanky blonde Prince. The common entrance to Dol Amroth is open within the right portal. There, a guard equal to Legolas' height and twice the breadth waits with a spear and shield. His right leg slightly behind the left reveals his anticipation for the elf's possible melee with him. On the other side of the entryway, two Black Swan knights, armored from head to toe stand ready with long swords. Straight-faced, the Prince gestures, "I am here to speak with the prince, and to return with my wife and daughter." The two knights step forward, side-by-side with the city guard, smiling, "Yer wife's dead, so don't be expecting to be walking out with her. The Silver Swan is waiting for your words and surrender. We are directed to escort you and not harm you for your daughter's sake; however, if you choose to be hostile, we have been granted permission to amend those orders."

Knowing the city quite well from his visits as ambassador of Ithilien, Legolas took know time 'walking through the front door' and skewering the guard and two knights with their own blades. The guard continuing to rithe and shake with his own spear cleanly penetrating through his chest, gurgled one last gasp and gesturing toward the alarm near the entryway. The two knights ascend toward Legolas from both sides, swinging their blades above and below the elf in hopes to catch him either way. The six-foot 5 bowman leaps almost his height's measure above the two blades and clamms down to disarm them both. Their strength is no match for this veteran fighter. With little struggle, Legolas crushes their wrists, causing them to yell in agony and drop their swords. As they drop, the elf catches them and punctures their skulls with the Amrothian metal. The bodies drop immediately, limp and lifeless.

Other soldiers hear the screams from the civilians who witness the sheer rage of the noble guardians of the realm. Some still in shock, and others in disbelief, only cries escape the fearful humans. "Forgive me Mithrandir, but now I must access a window", Legolas bounds for the Prince's Court. The palace that overlooks the vast and wealthy bay is prepared for the lone elf. It was Legolas' strategy to come at the castle from behind, scaling the seawall, but the view of his beautiful daughter upon the steps of the court, paralyzes him. Lesiery's lavender eyes and fair skin mirror his own. Her short slender body, silver hair, and facial features mirror her mother's. Her figured walk ascends the long marble steps in a gown native only to the seamstresses of the Silver Swan. No appearance of distress is present on her as she nears her father. A soft smile reveals on her face, "father, I am here and I am fine. Please, harness your blades and speak with my love, the Prince."

'My LOVE?!' The words stab the proud father so deeply. Never had she spoken affectionate words of this man that she has know very little. Desperate to see Ilsenia somewhere in the crowd approaching at the top of the steps with the Prince in hopes this is all some bizarre vision. 'I must have lost consciousness in the plains when the stallion bucked me off". The elf staggers back with a whirl of confusion and betrayal present upon his face. "Lord Greenleaf, I pray that you listen to your daughter, my intended. Soon we will be family and ward over the last magic lands of Middle Earth. The gates of Arman are no longer open to our kind and we must bring order and safety to those who hold greater power over men. Please, come." A slender and aristocratic man approaches Lesiery and extends a hand out toward Legolas. His face is calm and positive with fake promise.

Legolas has no trust in the twisted waterfowl. He grabs his bow and pulls the obsidian arrow from the quiver, knocking it back as far as the beautiful bowstring permits. The arrow releases as another pierces through his chest from behind. The white shafted arrow with a ruby head extends past his leather armor. His eyes recognize the Hartwood arrow, very few in existence, and meant only to kill elves. Springing from the ruby, wooded vines enwrap his torso and climb to his neck in rapid succession. Legolas, falls to his knees and turns to see who the true puppeteers are in this guise. Their shadows approach his enraged and tangled body. Soon, he is no more and a beautiful broad Direwood tree is pressing its roots into the ivory stones of the Prince's Court.


	8. Chapter 8: Wonder and Admiration

**Chapter 8: Wonder and Admiration**

The quarters for guests of Castle Black were barely above standard to the brothers of the Night's Watch with the benefit of more privacy and no bunks. Ilsenia made no reason for the men to see her as a danger to the keep, minding to herself unless she was separating animal fats to make candles for Maester Aemon and the keep's library. She made sure to display gratitude and service during her stay. It had been three days, but she finds much joy spending her time with the wise man. Her strength was documented on the road so it is assumed she can carry large loads of books, supplies, and food to the maester until a new steward is determined for him.

"I believe this will be our last evening dining together Maester Aemon," Ilsenia smiles as she bringst the steaming bowl of mystery broth and bread in front of where the elderly man sits. His blind stare stretches out straight ahead, but his smile and hand reach for hers. "I did not believe I would see much more magic in my lifetime until you came to grace this castle with your presence. My family's history stretches for thousands of years full of immortality, dragons, sorceresses, kings, queens, tamers of wild things, and destroyers of shadows and white walkers. To know you have seen all of that in one lifetime, I wish you did not have to leave. I am grateful for your maps and scrolls of languages foreign to our lands."

In her best attempt of Valyrian, "I am honored to know that there continues to be strength, wisdom, and grace in men". A chuckle escapes the silver haired maester, "ah strength, what a curious word in my ancestors' vocabulary. Depending on how you place the emphasis on the word will determine its true meaning. Your emphasis suggests that courage is still thriving in our humankind. What courage have you seen? Your voyage from Winterfell only graced you with self-absorbed noblemen, thieves, murders, and rapists". Breaking a piece of bread, Ilsenia scans her small plate to see what else her stomach can accept in the limited diet of Castle Black. Overly abused animal meat made her stomach turn. It is torture enough to dissect the remains of horses worked until their deaths to extract their fat and sinew for oil and wax. Then, she spies some shelled nuts and all despair vanishes from her chest. Looking back at the man dining with her she is able to respond to his doubt.

"It is natural for men to be guarded, and yes, I have been privy to some depravity and other infantile approaches to life, but I would be a fool to say that it did not exist in the people from my lands – man, elf, or dwarf. Nobility and kingdoms exist to the infinite degree. Wars fought, and families broken in the name of one-sided justice and righteousness…" her words drift and her eyes glaze as she remembers seeing the body of her only adult child strewn on the rocks below the cliffs of Dol Amroth's Castle Keep. There was nothing she could do but only to take the chain and veil left upon the edges of the cliff. Her breath began to speed, nostrils flaring, and the round walnut secured in its shell crumbling under the pressure of her fist. A soft and frail hand found its way upon the crushing fist of Ilsenia and the nightmares lifted from her attention to find Maester Aemon doing his best to direct his eyes at her to offer additional comfort.

"I believe you have witnessed great tragedy in your journeys. What do you believe you will find beyond the wall once you return to your realm?" Ilsenia takes the question very seriously since she has thought to herself each night at Castle Black on what exactly she will return to. 'How long had she been kept in the Hartwood of Winterfell? Has time passed differently in Gondor? Will she be alone? Have all inhabitants fled Middle Earth to find a new frontier to call home? Faramir's bloodline is strong in the Stark lineage. Moments staring at Jon, she would see Aragorn's son. This cannot be a coincidence. Time must have passed, perhaps centuries. Perhaps a millennium?' Her only answer for the man is, "I am uncertain, but I have to know. I never knew what became of my mate and the people of Gondor. Speaking of which Maester, I have made something for you," Ilsenia rises from her seat to near the entrance of the room. Kneeling down to a package as large as a wolf's head, she raises it and unwraps it. Turning to Aemon, she brings a sphere that pivots on a thin rod secured on a sanded round disc of oak wood. She gathers his hands to feel the engravings, raised areas, and valleys. The look of astonishment and childish wonder is unmistakable with the ninety-year-old man.

"This is my guess on how our lands exist in relation upon the great eye of Arda. I could not have made this without your trust and generosity of sharing your maps that you guard for the keep". Ilsenia's smile of pride also shines like an elfling as she has not had the opportunity to create something so grand as this in such a fleeting period as her stay at Castle Black. "My lady, you continue to outdo yourself in my presence. I have very few prized and private possessions, but this certainly will be added to the collection." He then stands to advance toward the chest that Ilsenia assumes is his stash of personal belongings. Opening the box, he fumbles through books, scrolls, some textiles, until he lifts a smaller polished onyx vessel. Turning to Ilsenia, he returns to her presence to reveal a collection of arrowheads. All are crafted from different precious and semi-precious stones. Onyx, Emerald, Sapphire, Opal, Amber, and Ruby. Her eyes stop at the ruby. "These were crafted by my ancestors to, as they would say, defend the lands from sinister beings. I am a blind old man and never a warrior. I have never had any use for them but have not found the confidence in any man of the keep to inherit them. You, my lady. I believe you had said the other day your kind were often bonded to the bows that you called your own. Why were you only found with armor, a cloak, and two foreign blades? Why no bow?" Still staring at the red-gemmed arrowhead, "I had little use for one. I am not a hunter, and prefer to meet my enemy head on. I can use one, but rarely has it served a purpose for me."

A knock on the ajar door interrupted the beginning of a deeper discussion. The onyx box shuts and is placed upon the table next to the globe. "Yes Stark?" Aemon welcomes the ranger into the room of the library. A grin grows on Benjen's face as he nears the two. "Maester Aemon, the new Raven fledglings have arrived and will be ready for their training within the week." Turning to Ilsenia, "Tomorrow we depart at dawn and I thought you would wish to wear these again for our journey in case our voyage goes hostile." Benjen extends his arm to Ilsenia, holding her hybrid mithril-leather armor toward her. With surprise and mild gratitude to the man, Ilsenia lightly lifts the armor that appears to possess more weight for the Ranger than for her, "Thank you First Ranger." Upon the Ranger's departure, the door closing behind him, Ilsenia separates the mithril from her leather breast piece to show her appreciation for Maester Aemon's belief in her stories. His hands hold the flawless shirt, stroking the smooth texture of the metal. His eyes search for the answer to the material he holds in his possession, but finds none. "It is mithril, as strong as dragon scale. Even the strongest of arrows cannot pierce it. Once a hobbit I knew was stabbed by a trident and survived the attack wearing a piece like this." Weighing the metallic fabric up and down, Aemon feels like an apprentice in the Citadel once again, "Extraordinary! Nothing can penetrate this you say?"

"Not so, unfortunately," Ilsenia looks back at the closed Onyx box, "there is one item that can strangely pierce the armor. They are Hartwood arrows, often tipped with inestimable ruby arrowheads. Dark elves of the weirwood forests crafted them to take revenge upon those who aimed to keep them in the shadows." Her glazed stare returns as she inherently opens her arm to receive the mithril work from him. "Hmmm," the old man ponders, "our lands have much commonality it may seem. The old gods of this land possessed great powers from the ancient weirwood trees as well. Many of the Northerners continue to worship and pay tribute to the old gods in hopes of survival of the long winters. A few here continue to take their vows to the Hartwood tree beyond the wall."

Dawn nears as Ilsenia's meditative sleep subsides in her quarters. From the bare wooden floor she sits upon, slowly she turns her head and eyes to the unnecessary bed provided to her. Upon it lays her armor in perfect collection as though a ghost consumes the placement in her stead. Her eyes follow the curves of every itch of her elven body's shelter. Closing her eyes, she imagines her bare body filling the insides of the mithril and leather. There, a glow emmerses from her, green, red, and white. Her form begins to recede in size and distort as she assumes the size of a house cat. Before the bed, Ilsenia assumes the identity of a grey spotted adolescent house cat, stretching and accustoming itself to the feline anatomy.

A knock on the door is not heard as Ilsenia transforms, nor the familiar voice requesting to enter. Not hearing a response, Jon Snow enters the initially assumed empty room. To his surprise, a strange feral cat stares at him from atop the bed. Like most wild creatures, it does not move in hopes the trespasser will retreat and leave them be. Jon stares right back into the strangely familiar yellow eyes and he enters the room in rebellion of the cat's hopes. In his hands are a short bow and a quiver of a myriad of arrows. The feathered ends black as the ravens that send word to men.

"I suppose I can entrust you to make sure she receives these when she returns," Jon begins telling the cat. Looking over his shoulder to confirm the door is shut, he continues his conversation with the cat as he wanders around the quarters eyeing its organization. "I think I will miss her, cat. I suppose she was the first confirmation that I am making the right choice to continue to this bleak outpost. She is the first magical thing I had ever seen aside from Ghost." Looking over his shoulder with a side smile, "You're wise to stay high up away from my friend; you'd be a smal supper in an instant". The cat turns from him now comfortable with the situation of him staying. She begins to poke her head under the body armor of Ilsenia. "Wait now! What do you think you're doing, cat?!" Before Jon could reach the bed, the cat fully immerses itself in the leather chest piece and begins to glow.

Wide-eyed, Jon watches before him the armor filling with a human form. Glowing in yellow light, the female form of a familiar elf lays upon the bed with bare legs and a silver-haired nether region catching his boyish attention. The light dissipates and before the man a half-dressed Ilsenia gathers herself upward on the bed. Jon tries his best to fight the carnal instinct of ogling her curves and naked form by forcing his shocked eyes to meet her warm and understanding gaze. Ilsenia stands without her britches and nears Jon very seductively. She takes his hand, whispers in his ear, "this land is full of magic and mysteries. This will not be your last, Jon Snow. I too will miss your company and quiet ventures into the woods beyond Winterfell." Her warm breath fills his body and his tension releases as he continues to hold her hand. Turning to look her in the eyes, he forwardly pulls her to his mouth. He believes this will be the last time he will ever hold a woman, let alone have the opportunity to kiss one so intimately. He closes his eyes and hopes that she will receive his advance as genuine.

Ilsenia had promised her spirit and body to only two males in her lifetime. Legolas has been her solemate for over a millenia. The comfort of a gentle and honest man before her causes her to miss her mate more deeply. She receives Jon's caress with respect and acceptance. This may be his last affectionate moment from a woman forever. She returns the warm embrace and continues the kiss further as his hands drop to the small of her back. The bare skin above her buttocks teases Jon and he tightens again to step back. Her eyes drop down in a strange sense of shyness. Turning from the man she gathers her leather pants and begins to dress herself in front of him. His breath is strong and rigorous as he continues to watch her smooth and youthful form find cover in clothing. He has seen Northern beauties, but none so untouched by the apathetic nature that encompasses the lands. Timidly, he turns to search for her companion calico cloak to hand to her as further security and warmth. The laces below her navel are tied and her boots secured. Jon hastily places the bow and quiver upon her bed and turns for the door. Before he vanishes from her presence, he turns, "Farewell Ilsenia, may your travels find you home safely".


	9. Chapter 9: Foreign Journey

**Chapter 9: Foreign Journey**

The large gate opening bitterly invites the Ranger and the druid to the wild north. The groans of the wood, metal, gears, and men sing a sad song to the woman and a moment of regret comes over her abandoning a realm that she feels young and alive in again. Ilsenia turns looking over her shoulder at the few that are tending to their duties in the court near the guarded tunnel. Benjen's urgency to confirm the rumors spreading across the wall and north causes a swift coupling of clicks and a kick to the black mare. The blazing torch in his arm glows the depths to the opposite entrance, providing a target to reach.

The first barricade lowers and crunches again into the ice and snow like the final surrender of a frost drake to slumber. Her chest pounds and the mix of emotions causes her to shift like the ever aware dire hares of her old mentor, Radagast the Brown. The opening to her destiny raises and she whispers gently, "Legolas, I am coming". The rush of the frigid wind bombards Ilsenia, but the bite does not phase her one bit. What comes next paralyzes all instincts in her elven body. The wind then sucks back from the tunnel to the wild with a response to her whisper, "Ilsenia, where are you?" Both her dapple grey gelding and Stark's black mare skittishly whinny and surge past the gate. Before Ilsenia could turn back, the thick and solid portcullis slams shut. "Legolas!" she shrieks.

Frantically, all composure is lost and she shrills to the sky demanding the door open once again. "Woman! Shut your hole and move on. We are not setting foot back that way even if I left my legs back there. It's not a damn scullery door. Let's move. We've got a lot of road to cover before night fall and I am sure as hell not freeing myself of you until we get to the villages."

'Where did his voice come from? The wall? Forward?' Ilsenia ignores all the cursery coming from Stark, trying to organize her thoughts and next steps. 'Is it coming from inside me? Is it this land?' Deeper inside the woods nearest to the wall, Ilsenia dismounts and brings her bare fingers to the frosted ground. Suddenly her palms radiate with green light and her eyes mirror with a warm yellow glow. Ignoring the thundering of Benjen's horse nearing her location, she lays breast down upon the earth, her cheek pressing to listen to nature speak. The source of her gift of nature has always been a mystery to all those who have known her. Her mate and lover had always said to her that it was Mother Ea embodying herself in Ilsenia. Her dear friend Mithrandir used to say, "it is not for me to question, but only to embrace and guide." Her mentor that took her in as an adolescent elf never questioned, and the day he decided his time upon their lands must come to an end, he brought all energy and wisdom the Valandir gifted him with and transfused it into his dearest apprentice.

Before a word can escape Benjen's mouth, the glow cannot be unseen before his own eyes. He has viewed much in his years north of the wall, but nothing quite like this from one woman. He slowly dismounts and loosely ties his reins to a pine branch. The idea of interrupting seems foolish and dangerous together. He then kneels to be nearer to this arcane experience. Maester Aemon guided him before their departure that she is not of their lands and may be a weapon and potential mediator between the wildlings and the men of Westeros. The ground below her body warms and grass begins to burst through the tarred pine needles, mud, and frost. Her smile invitingly causes a boyish urge to return the gesture in Benjen. 'Noone is here to catch him, who the hell cares'. Never in all his time has he seen such beauty and wonderment. The thought of duty returns to the front of his mind and he gently risks to touch her shoulder, "Ilsenia, if you are not from these lands, I must ask you to return to your mount and proceed with me to find more guarded shelter. Night is fast approaching."

Her smile resides to an expression of peace and understanding. Ilsenia gathers herself honoring her companion's request, and returns to her horse. Behind where she had lay, a figure sized patch of fresh spring grass stands out from the muted ground. Soon, frost gathers upon the new foliage and it is out of her sight as they deeper into the woods. The ranger keeps looking to the east and pausing. His eyes return to Ilsenia and he turns his mare to the western region of the woods. Curiously and observantly, Ilsenia abides by Benjen's direction, but can sense a homestead to the west. The roasting of meat is in the air and she shakes her head, 'whoever is brave enough to signal the attractive smells to beasts and man, may not be the right company to keep'.

Benjen's breath billows around his collar escaping from his cloak. The light is falling and he prepares to keep warm beside a thick and protective tree. The elf nears him, crouching and begins digging a deep and narrow hole in the ground. Their eyes meet as his curiosity rises. The warm smile returns and she turns to dig a smaller hole a stride away. He more freely examines her shape and posture with the wild cloak around her body. In a moment, she appears to be a foraging bear, then a wolverine digging for its next meal. Her arm disappears and he connects that she is creating an underground fire to keep warm and eat. With her small branches and dry foliage are placed in the larger hole and she provides a spark to light it. Frantically, Benjen nears to bury the fire, but surprisingly, there is no smoke and little odor escaping the hole. Instead, a deep and strong warmth radiates. Steam escapes from the smaller hole created a few spaces away. 'The damn woman made a smokeless fire!' "I am surprised to see a brother of the centuries old Night's watch surprised to see one of the most key survival techniques being used in such an untamed wilderness. Always either hiding to stab an intruder in the back, or imperious enough to welcome any and all who dare attack them. If you are a man, don't pretend to be anything else than a man."

"What the hell do you mean by that? What the hell do you mean by any of the shit you speak? It has been bothering me since we left Winterfell when you told me that I could have saved my nephew. Do you think he would be safer as MY son at Castle Black? You know I took the black before he was even born? You think we're dumber than shit up here, but they sure as hell can count to nineteen. Damn it woman, you dig deep into our books, map pretty things for our maester, and think you know the shit of our lands? I know you are no fucking wildling. That is for sure. Ned should have sent you east to Essos. I think you'd fit better in with the savages and red witches".

 **Witches and Dragons**

Lesiery carries her lover's child and walks the lands of Dol Amroth with guards and her two nefarious aunts. Twins and elder sisters of Ilsenia, the three are the last dark elves of Arda's surface lands. Ilsenia's last promise to the elves of the light was that she would aid in sealing the portal to the shadow realms of the dark elves and the demons who follow. Tarysha and Syiin resented their fate being determined by their younger sister, the last dragon.

Trade continues prosperly in the coastal kingdom, keeping her husband away for weeks and months. His Hand would stay and keep over the city and his bride. The latest travels to the last Dwarven stronghold to the northeast would mean her sea captain would be on foreign land to trade with more unforgiving folk than usual. 'He must return to see his son and to protect us both. I do not trust my aunts and their intentions with my child's future.' Her hands rest on her swollen abdomen that she has no longer bothered to conceal.

Tarysha standing a hand taller than her twin, only a few moments older than her, takes on the role of the eldest and wisest of the family. Resenting her family, Syiin gladly takes her status out on those 'beneath' her - her niece, the common human citizens, and especially the prince. She mirrors the posture of her niece walking before her in the marketplace, positioning a hand momentarily upon her belly. A smile widens and a whisper to her sister brings one upon Tarysha's features as well. "Good morrow my sister, may your egg be as warm and powerful as mine". Tarysha stares down to her sister resentfully and gathers herself as she turns to the dock where her ship awaits to take her to her mate's keep. Over her shoulder, she snaps at her sister, "keep well sister, and guard our father's eggs with yours and your spawn's life." Lesiery pauses to spy her eldest aunt nearing the foreign ship with sigil of a flaming heart - the followers of the Lord of Light.

Smaug was once an ambassador to the Lord of Light, but the dark angel Sauron corrupted his blood and desires. He was also the other mate of the three sisters' mother. Sauun was not actually an elf, but prefered the form as she aged. She had fallen for a dark elf after parting ways with her Red Dragon mate. His corrupted nature terrified her and forced her succession to the realms of Rivendell. There, she kept her last 3 eggs hidden in order to live out the rest of her days as an elf and mother to three beautiful dark elven girls. Lesiery recalls the lore and stories her mother would share with her about her ancient family. Female dragons shifted between human or elf and that of a full fledged dragon. That is the case of mother and her grandmother. Her aunts were pure Shadow elves and desired to follow the path of the fire bringers. Some would breed with dragons, and others with humans or elves. The transformation between forms was painful her mother once told her. Ilsenia had shifted as a dragon only twice in her life; the first was at the battle of Helm's Deep in Rohan, and the second, the Banishment of the Shadows. Male dragons resented their mates for they did not possess the gift of shape shifting and felt the procreation between female dragons and men insulting and repulsive to their bloodline. On the other side, female dragons did not possess the muscles to speak other tongues while in their reptilian forms. This was all male dragons needed to feel superior above all others. Lesiery prays to the gods of all that her mother will be released from imprisonment once the prophecy has come to pass. Her betrayal to her father and mother has turned her heart and optimism grey.


	10. The Light of Life and Those Who Guard It

**Chapter 10: Light of Life and Those That Guard It**

 **Dragon Eggs**

Not far from the city expanse of Pentos a wedding between a Dothraki Lord and the last true Princess of Westeros is in plan. The sweet warm ocean waters lapping to the sands of Pentos sends a freeing sense of hope to Daenerys Stormborn. The great lord ten times her size will be her overseer instead of her vindictive brother. 'Trading one abuse for another. At least I knew what to expect from brother. This man will consume me and break me. He does not _love_ me; he wants to _own_ me.' A pause fills her mind and turning back to the keep that has housed them for a decade. 'Viserys _owns_ me too. What do I have to rule over? My body will soon not even be my own.' A tear falls heavy and fast from her cheek. With a fiery sense of determination, she forcefully rubs that tear in and turns to find a way to come above all that is instore for her.

The warm wind catches her troubles and her movement back to the main estate. The gardens are off since her favored tree was ripped from its home and sold to who knows. The winds blow differently through the remaining foliage. Never had she really taken the time to feel what it means to be a part of her surroundings. Never had one place seemed like home. Home is the land across the narrow seas that is destined for her and her brother. Another tear wells in her eye and bursts through to fall heavy down to her mouth. A heavy inhale and a slight tickle of her arm causes her to focus and turn to see a single red hartwood leaf fly by her.

The last remains of her childlike joy catches up with her and she finds herself chasing the leaf. The wind halts and Daenerys finds herself in the bare spot from which the Hartwood tree was snatched. There in the discarded rich soil, a coin-sized stone with a unique mark reveals itself to her. A mystery and a distraction from her fate invites her to kneel for a closer look. Delicately with wonder she lifts the grey speckled stone with a soft indentation of a hammer or blade over an anvil with an arch of seven stars above. Her thumb rubs over the stone further and more dirt releases. What appears to be a crown is barely shown below the stars. 'Is this a sign? Where did this come from?' The sigil is strange and yet the number seven is more familiar than any symbol she has studied. 'The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, the Seven Gods, the Seven-pointed Star of the Faith of the Seven. But these stars do not have seven points, - eight.' The puzzlement shines upon the princess' face. "M'lady, it is time for your bath before the ceremony. I was looking all over for you. M'lady?" the young servant to Daenerys trots to her side. Quickly, the princess closes her fist with the stone and nods and returns to the estate.

The ceremony between the Great Khal who will conquer the seven Kingdoms and his Khaleesi was short and a blur to the new queen of the Dothraki. The rituals of blood spilling, spit, and war cries stays fresh in her mind as she views the guests celebrating the union in fashions foreign and invasive to her. Drums beat and hordes of men chant and beat against bare breasted women in offering to their future conquerors. Paint sprawling across one body, smearing upon another in wild embrace, their bodies because one carnal horde. Men pushed others to mount drunk dancers before her very eyes. Before long, the frenzy increases and blades are drawn. Her glance to her husband shows his eagerness develope upon his face and his large hands grasp his knees with urgency to see if his personal bet of who would win comes to fruition.

The smaller man stumbles and is caught on his knees before his khal. The larger bares his scythe-like blade, the _arakh_ , and slices his belly wide open. As a rooster would strut around its property, the warrior grabs the dying opponent by his braid and severs the symbol of strength and victory with pride. Drogo's bet was met and a broad smile widens further. Daenerys' stomach turns again and the smell ocean salt, blood, and foreign spices engulfs her stamina.

The gift offerings to the new Khaleesi has begun. Foreign ambassadors from far and wide present her with jewels, rare creatures, fine fabrics, and wine, lots of wine. Then a common language familiar to her greets her and her husband. His stature and refinement in a savage place like this caused her chest to raise in arousal and anticipation to converse with another that was not Illyrio or her brother. His calming blue eyes and rustic gold hair brought forth security that had not existed since she was a child. Drogo with great familiarity, welcomes the man to approach the two. "A small gift for the new Khaleesi, songs and histories from the seven kingdoms," Ser Jorah advances toward Daenerys with a small collection of bound books. With his pledge

Two men bring forward a chest with the sigil of her house nestled within a bright flaming golden sun fastened to the lid. Illyrio nears the chest and opens it to display his gift to his khaleesi. Eyes widening with wonderment, she kneels forward to lift one of the three petrified dragon eggs nested inside the chest. "Magister, the symbol upon the chest, it looks like my family seal, but the sun; why is the dragon inflamed with the sun?" The Pentoshi Prince smiled with a response, "some say dragons were born from the sun itself, the flame of Anor. It would seem fit coming from the lands of Asshai". Though the Magister says they have been turn to stone and will only remain beautiful symbols, a connection fills her spirit with the cradling of the egg.

 **Vows Before Winter**

The stormy rains leave little availability to the men at the wall to spar with their brothers. It however provides ample opportunities to clean out the barracks, organize the weaponry and equipment, and maintain order in the common living areas of Castle Black. With the challenge of being practically useless in heavy work, Samwell Tarly is stationed in the mess hall with the kind companionship of his friend, Jon Snow. Placing Holystone upon the large wooden meal tables, Sam scrubs rhythmically thinking of other physical rhythms men make outside the keep. "I know for a fact that some of the officers visit the brothels in Moles Town quite regularly." Jon follows his lead with the scrubbing in response, "I don't doubt it". Begrudgingly Sam continues, "don't you think it's a little unfair that they make us take our vows while they sneak off for a little, Sally on the Side." Jon has never heard of calling it that and gives a little joke back to his comrade. "I didn't think you'd be so upset". Insulted, Sam interjects "you don't think I like girls? Or do you think I can't get one because I'm fat? Well I like them and it is ridiculous to think we have to defend the wall and remain celibate - like that will make us better at what we do."

The thunderclaps grow louder and the patters of the drops heavier. "I've never been with one. I bet you've been with hundreds, no?" Sam reflects on the things he will give up forever without ever knowing them in the first place. "As a matter of fact, I'm like you." Sam scoffs at the thought. "I came close once," then he thinks again from the day his uncle departed with Ilsenia, "twice". "The first was young and beautiful, a redhead named Ros. A whore from the north. My brother kept thinking my bad moods would change if I got laid by a woman." Sam stops his scrubbing to imagine the perfect breasts of the redheaded Ros. "So why didn't you, you know - was it because you didn't know where to put it?" "I know where to put it" Jon loudly retorts. "What's my last name?" "Snow." "Snow. All I could think of as she took her clothes off was what if I made a child? The life of a bastard is no life I would put on anyone." Sam nods empathizing with his friend, "so you didn't know where to put it?" Laughing back and forth as Jon gives the man a good slug, Ser Alliser storms into the mess hall with sheer hatred burning from his eyes. "Enjoying yourselves boys? You look cold. By the fire, indoors; it's still summer you know." Impatient of any lectures from the man who hates him the most, Jon continues scrubbing "I am of the north; I build my own fires". Prepared for any smartass remark Lord Snow would have for him, Thorne jabs back "That's admirable. I spent six months out there, beyond the wall during the last winter. Do you boys even remember the last winter ten years ago?" Meeting his eyes, Jon replies, "I do." Thorne continues, "It was supposed to be a two-week mission. We heard a rumor that Mance Rayder was planning an attack upon East Watch. So he headed east to look for some of his men, capture them, get some information. His men are hard men. Harder than any of you will ever be. See, they were smart and knew the storm was coming, so they hid in their caves to wait the storm out, while we were caught out in the open. Winds so strong, they'd rip trees from their roots. So cold, that taking off your glove to find your cock to piss meant you'd lose a finger and all in darkness. You don't know cold. Neither of you do. The horses died first. We didn't have enough to feed them to keep them warm. Eating the horses was easy. But later, when we began to fall, that wasn't so easy. We should have had a couple of boys like you with us. Soft fat boys like you would last us for days, your bones used for soup. Soon you will be passed along to the Lord Commander for assignment and they will call you 'men of the Night's Watch'. But don't believe 'em, you're still boys, and when winter comes, you will die, like flies."

The wind and rain vapor gnawed at their faces when Alliser swings the door open to depart. Jon could only stare back down at the table and see the Holystone gather like gusts of snow in dull grey nothingness. What has he submitted himself to, Jon wonders. Where will his Uncle go? Sam's pause was shorter as he continued scrubbing fearfully. He knows that everyone is counting the days of his survival. No one will stick their neck out except Jon for him. He will be the first fly to die.

In the presence of the Hartwood Tree north of the wall, the followers of the old gods and Sam kneel before it committing their vows by repeating the Oath of the Night's Watch. " _Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come._ " Proudly, the brothers rise and praise each other for their commitment.

Jon wishes his Uncle was here to watch him become the man he is destined to be. He wishes that he would have waited for Jon to become a ranger so that they could venture North together. Now, he is Lord Commander's steward and fears of the little opportunity he will have beyond the wall again. The winds blow and a familiar scent passes him. Turning suddenly side to side, he searches for her. He searches for Ilsenia. With his keen eyes, he sees nothing. Pausing with disappointment, he looks to his feet to find a long stunning spotted owl feather. He kneels to collect it to then hear his companion dire wolf near the group. "What's he got there?" Sam desperately asks. "Come here Ghost. Give here", Jon finds before him now, the frozen cold forearm of a man. "Good god!" exclaims Sam. A sign of life and a sign of death come to him as he takes his vows. Ilsenia's feather is tucked into his cloak as he hands the human appendage to his superiors.

 **Shores of Pentos**

The festivities of the wedding are long gone. The Khalasar have ventured back to Vaes Dothrak to properly unite the Khaleesi to her new tribe. The Prince stands peacefully gazing into the setting sun that kisses the sea so delicately. Contentment and assuredness fills his chest knowing he has done all that he can for the future of Westeros. Jingles of gossemary metal charms, chains, and beads dance with the sounds of the lulling waves. Gentle footsteps approach the man from behind as a woman decorated in gold, onyx, and red fabrics. Before Illyrio turns to greet the priestess he knows has come for confirmation, she places an affable hand upon his shoulder queuing him to stand his place.

"Did the princess like her gifts?" her whisper hisses with spice and mystery. The man nods knowing he has no words that the Priestess cannot already know. "The Lord of Light Thanks You. May the Blood of Smaug guide her to power and the return of fruitful lands". Nodding again, the Magister feels the woman's gloved hand depart from his body. Too cautious to turn, he waits until the light vanishes behind the sea to return to his home.


	11. Chapter 11: Wind and Fire

**Chapter 11: Wind and Fire**

 **Angband**

"The Frostfangs are no match for any lone Crow. The Free Folk know them, but I don't think they know them enough to call them home. Legends say they are dormant volcanoes of hot ash and fire." "They are," Ilsenia turns her head to Benjen to confirm she heard every word and mumble. His stream of consciousness escapes his lips freely with her by his side and unnerving him every step of the way. He looks toward the Fangs as they bypass the Old Man's keep to head toward the Fist of the First Men. "What does the "First Men" really mean," she asks. "How do you know they were the first? What are you? The last? What are the Southern people?" She asks a lot and they sound like the same words his littlest niece would ask. He then imagines his black haired nephew scruffing her head saying, "they just are okay?" and then jab her once with a firm finger to get her mind off deeper philosophical topics. Here, there is snow, wind, mountains, and plentiful amounts of time for long deep philosophical discussions. Things that comfort and discomfort him all at the same time. 'What will Qhorin say about her? How does she know so much and so little?'

Ilsenia welcomes the harsh frozen wind to her face. Her hood had folded miles back. Her sparkling white hair radiates no more in these lands with no moon, sun, or stars. Everything is grey. It is the closest to home she has felt in ages. Her mother use to hibernate and burrough under the ancient Blue Mountains for centuries at a time. Her memories of her mother are few and far between. Remembering the last time she saw her mother was when she was in her true form - a frost wyrm. Glimmering like a serpent made of diamonds. Thorin would have dropped the Arkenstone if he ever saw her. Thorin would have killed her. And worn her scales for armor. Ilsenia's eyes drop thinking of the King she onced loved. It was young and naive love. He never knew she was half draconic either. Nonetheless he had pledged his love to her and when the battles ended, they would be King and Queen of Erebor. A chuckle escapes her frame with the thought of a Dwarf and Elf uniting. He called her his true Arkenstone. As her horse moves with her body and consciousness, her fingers around her reins move in the motions of her holding Thorin's hair back from his face, as his body lay upon his tomb. At peace he looked. Nobley he looked. All of it was tragic and unnecessary. Shaking her head, she knows he would have done things differently if he really had known… and listened. The Frostfangs remind her of their travels and her travels with another fellowship faced with tragedy and loss. Will this be another venture? 'I should not be going this way'.

Approaching the pass that is widely used by Freefolk and Crows, her memory of the Northern lands of Ea becomes faded like the forests behind her. If her theory is correct, eventually north will become south and into the ancient lands of Angband. The stories of the corrupted fortress of Angband were told to Ilsenia as a child from Radagast and Mithrandir. It was once the stronghold of the dark angel Morgoth. "What is west of the Frostfangs? Why are the Freefolk venturing in numbers through treacherous lands with narrow access to get pass?" Benjen turns to her with a wonder where these inquiries are leading, "fewer men and no wall". "But there is a narrow bridge and a long drop". His dark eyes squint forward as he recognizes the plateau, "I have a feeling they're not really heading west." The flattened peak that clearly resembles an overlook for soldiers is the outpost known as the Fist of the First Men. Benjen kicks swiftly to his ride to quicken the pace. Before long, Ilsenia shouts far behind him, "Stop! Stop!" The deep cries of Wildlings echo and surround the Ranger and the Druid.

With frantic trust, he pleads to Ilsenia, "Go! Shed your skin and fly to the Fist!" Ilsenia immediately dismounts as warriors dressed in mottled furs, bones, and blades, fastly approach. She hears him groan and battle five in his range. With no hesitation and only trust, she folds down, glowing green to prepare for the transformation. Her focus needs to be pure to change and escape before capture. Her cloak, blades, armor, and body meld into the form of a spotted grey falcon. As she crouches and lifts, a weighted net snares her entire body closing her wings to a fold and surrender.

 **The Red Keep**

Robert's Hand has found the true heir to the throne in the shit ridden, pest-infested Flea Bottom of King's Landing. The tall gallant young man holds great promise and valiance. If he were of pure noble blood Ned Stark would have considered him a suitable match for one of his daughters. His only goals right now are to keep him safe and to push the Lannisters to confession or abandonment of their claims. With Robert squandering the kingdom's money for drink and women, he has no one to truly talk to that he can trust. In times of turmoil and uncertainty, the Northerner knows only one place to go. The Godswood.

In the royal gardens of the Red Keep, Ned beckons Cersei's presence before he prays to his gods. Sitting on the stone bench in the center his leg aches and his nerves shake in unison. The time bells chime and a slender golden figure approaches. The Queen answers his call. "You're in pain Lord Stark. Perhaps you should go home", she looks down upon him. Giving her no confirmation, "I've had worse". "Is this why you call upon me now? To prove to me your strength and feed me riddles?" He motions to his face noting he sees her covered bruise upon her cheek, "has he done this to you before?" Looking downward, "my brother would kill him first. My brother is equal to a hundred of your friend". Straight faced he responds, "your brother, or your lover?" Her confession of her love for her brother responded with justifications that matched the history of the great Targaryen family. "My son saw you with him. I will give you and your brother's children tonight to depart from the keep before I tell Robert. I will not have their blood on my hands. Go as far as you can." Her head drops and then rises with a smile, "you should have taken the throne when you had the chance. Jamie told me that you were there and had the possibility. It was a mistake to give it to Robert". "I've made many mistakes, but that was not one of them" he responds. "Oh but it was, in the Great Game of Thrones, you either win, or your die". Confidently, she turns her long body to return to the keep, leaving a man unsure of what he just revealed.

The time for the Godswood could not come at a better moment. Passing through the exotic southern gardens, he finds himself nearing a secluded reach of ancient Northern woods. Beech, Birch, Walnut, and Oak. In the center with a stone for resting, a beautiful Weirwood tree with open branches welcomes the Northern Warden to its presence. On his good leg, he bends down and collapses with his cane. Looking up, the red leaves cover his face in shadow, hiding his fears and doubts. Stark reaches into his doublet pocket to pull two stones. Upon the stones are markings of a red crown haloed with seven stars. Placing them into the earth below the tree, the prayers liberate themselves from his body, "Old Gods, Children of the Forests, Watchers beyond the wall, send two more guardians to protect my daughters. Extend your reach from these roots to bring forth two that will guard over Sansa and Arya when I am no longer able." The warm wind blazes through suddenly shifting to bitter frozen bites upon the praying man. He is heard again.

Ned's thoughts then wander to his beloved Catelyn. Her long rich red hair, her wide wise smile, and her delicate and loving hands fill his mind. The winds travel below his clothing and up the trunk of the tree. Leaves fall around and in a moment, his mind is transported to a fond memory, before her on their wedding day. "It will be good to see you again my love." He lifts his body from the stone platform, strong leg first to lift his body. His weakened leg gives way and he juts forward. From his pocket the last stone falls out and to the earth. In shock his eyes follow to the landing of the Durin's Folk stone and witnesses it being swallowed by the dark damp ground. The tree feeds upon its power. In haste he places a prayer upon it so to not go to waste, "bring justice to the realms of men". Frantically, he had no notion of how or why those words escaped his head at that moment. He wishes he had been more specific. He wishes he knew what his words will mean. He fears he may never see what uproots, but with certainty, he knows they will come and with the same ferocity Ilsenia graced the North.

 **Notice to Castle Black**

The rangers that were supposed to intercept Benjen and Qhorin return to the wall dead and missing one arm. Three brothers from beyond the wall bring the two bodies upon a makeshift sled to Castle Black. In the center of the courtyard, the brothers gather to identify the corpses in black. Immediately, Lord Commander Mormont recognizes the two and confirms their initial destination. Nearing behind Jon leans in, "Is my Uncle there?" Pip responds first, "no". A sigh of relief fills Snow knowing that at least his Uncle may still be alive. The morbid marbling of blue veins, grey lips, and clouded eyes, sends an eerie chill to his gut, "we should burn them". Sam's agreeance follows after noting that neither of the bodies emit any smell of rot or decay, though both present it visually. All turn to the Lord Commander for the final decision, "I want Maester Aemon to examine them before we do what the wildlings would do. You may be a coward Tarly, but you sure are not stupid." In accordance, the brothers pull the sled toward the Maester's quarters for further examination.

Mormont turns back to Snow and snaps sharply, "you are confined to quarters until your are needed. I will not have my steward dishonor me again by running after his oath has been made. Keep the wolf with you too. I don't need anymore lone body parts milling around the castle."

The wind howls bitterly that evening, causing the majority of the brothers to either keep watch close up top, or covered at the South Gate. Jon's conflict of parting to Winterfell to his family, and staying to commit to his duty wails inside like the screaming flurries outside. His white companion's whimpers and pacing only agitates his discourse. With the ominous howling of the wind and the unusually frantic Ghost, Jon straightens up to open the barrack door. Light lightening upon still air, the beast streaks loud and fast down the castle corridor toward the Lord Commander's quarters. He questions what he just released upon the man he has held resentment for the time. Jon's disdain was no equal to what the jaws of Ghost would deliver. Then again, this seemed far more of a desperate act from his companion, causing Jon to gather his blade and close in on Ghost.

The wolf lunges wildly at Mormont's door. The comotion should have woken the old man, but with respect to his superior, Jon knocks before considering on entering, "Lord Commander, is everything alright?" No response and Ghost begins to turn and pant again. Pushing the door in Jon enters the warm and dim quarters. Before he could go further, the door slams shut separating him from his trusted friend. Turning to view the location of the thunderous sound, a drained blue corpse slack-jawed wails in all the most unnatural of ways. Ascending the gap between him and the Crow, Jon had little time to react to the nightmare that will be his first true combatant. The sword is drawn and before distance could be made the creature crashes upon him and the blade penetrates through and up the torso of his fallen brother. The battle was short and the body falls to the ground.

Suddenly, another comotion stirs behind him and he turns his sword upon his commanding officer. "What the seven hells Snow?!" Mormont shouts as his angered and confused gaise goes beyond the small framed man and to the limp body of the corpse that was supposed to be upon the Maester's examining table doors down. Sooner than Jon can explain his story, a gutteral snarl amplifies in the once-thought twic-dead creature. Its advance to the two watchmen was faster than the first upon Jon alone. In instinct for something that could cause an alternative form of harm, Jon grabs barehanded the lantern in Mormont's hand. The cold hot pain that filled his palm vanishes as he thrusts the beacon at the nearing body. A shrill higher than wind pushing through a stone crack escapes and the flailing body falls again to the ground and remains while the two men watch to confirm it is truly and finally dead. Their looks at each other bring forth an order in unison, "burn the other body".

author's first note: Thank you all for those who are following along. I am jumping a bit in places trusting you are familiar with the GOT TV series. Please feel free to review and/or reach out to me regarding the book.


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